


Through the Cracks

by Aspergirl



Category: South Park
Genre: Child Abuse, Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspergirl/pseuds/Aspergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ban on thong underwear is intended to put a stop to sexual behavior at South Park Elementary. Cartman has other plans, and Butters may or may not be a victim of sexual abuse. Rating for all the reasons you would imagine, including swearing, sexual situations, and uncles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dirty Little Ditty

This Thursday afternoon was like many other Thursday afternoons in South Park. There was fresh snow, school was ending for the day, and Eric Cartman was in detention. He would be cooped up in the library for an hour, but it was all so worthwhile. He couldn't help but smile even as Mr. Mackey instructed the delinquents, "Use your time to study and reflect on your behavior, m'kay." Cartman had spent enough afternoons in detention that he could have recited Mr. Mackey's detention spiel by heart. With a glazed-over look on his face, Cartman mouthed the words, cocking his head slightly for the "m'kay". Several other students giggled at the perfect imitation.

The heaviest volume of the Encyclopedia Banalica dropped on the table, startling Cartman out of his chair. "Jesus Christ!" he sputtered, looking up to see frustration sprawling across Mr. Mackey's face. The other students laughed a little louder this time.

"I suppose you think being disrespectful is funny, Eric?" Mr. Mackey's glare followed Cartman as he climbed back into his seat. "Well, it's not, m'kay. And neither is attempting to drown another student in the swimming pool."

"I was just baptizing Kahl. It was for his own good." Already, Mr. Mackey had ceased to listen. As Cartman took time to reflect on his behavior, he shrugged and decided: _Baptizing, drowning. Whatever's clever. Would have served that Jew bitch right if he drowned._ Just like that, he dreamily recalled Kyle thrashing under the water and seeing fewer and fewer bubbles rising to the surface. It was simply beautiful.

Mr. Mackey headed for the door, then turned to remind the students, "Now, I need to step out for a brief meeting. I'll be right across the hall. No talking or tomfoolery while I'm gone." The double doors swung closed. And open. "M'kay." And closed again.

An announcement crackled through the speakers. "Good afternoon, South Park Elementary. Would Mrs. Garrison please report to Principal Victoria's office? Thank you."

Cartman yawned, stretched, and stood. "It's been a tough day in detention, you guys. Finally, it's time to go home."

A couple of second-graders, doing time for smearing boogers, looked at each other quizzically. "Um, Mr. Mackey told us to stay here."

"Hello? No Mackey, no detention. Screw you guys, I'm going home." Cartman slid out of his chair and waddled out the door as fast as his legs would carry him. The handful of students who remained could not resist the open door and scuttled out after Cartman, quickly overtaking him. The two second-graders skipped joyfully, trailing their sticky hands along the walls. Cartman huffed and puffed, trying to keep up. He turned a corner only to be met with a gate blocking the way to the outside. "Aw, goddammit!" he rasped, then turned around, nearly running into Mrs. Garrison. Cartman darted into the janitor's closet before he could be seen, and Mrs. Garrison continued on her way to the meeting with the principal.

Safe inside the closet, Cartman sat in front of an air vent, which blasted him with gusts of cold air. Once he was sure that there was no one in the hallway, he reached for the doorknob, but stopped himself when he heard Butters' little voice. He looked around for the source, then pressed his ear against the vent. If he focused his attention, amidst the whoosh of air, he could hear everything.

Hearing the office door open, Butters sat bolt upright and looked to see who was coming in. _Oh, it's only Mrs. Garrison._ Butters tried to do all the right things; he listened, he tried to be helpful, and he told the truth. Just the same, he was back in the office, sitting across from Mr. Mackey, waiting for his parents to arrive.

He tapped his knuckles together. "Am I in trouble? What'd I do?"

"No, Butters, you're not in trouble, m'kay. But I'd like us to have a little talk with your parents."

Butters tried to believe that he was not in trouble because Mr. Mackey told him so. Still, he had a feeling that he would be in trouble very soon. Mr. Mackey also appeared to be analyzing his every movement, so Butters tried to act natural. "Uh... Lu lu lu, I've got some apples. Lu lu lu, you got some too." His voice was shaky. _I musta done something awful if he won't tell me what it is till Mom and Dad get here._ "Lu lu l-lu, let's make some applesauce... take off our clothes... and lu lu lu..."

"Oh, Jesus. I can't wait to hear this one explained," sighed Mrs. Garrison.

Mr. Mackey's eyebrows rose high on his large forehead. "'Take off our clothes and lu lu lu?' I'd like you to tell me what that means, m'kay."

The sound of footsteps and agitated adult voices in the hallway called Butter's attention. "Uh-oh." His hands fluttered anxiously when Principal Victoria and his parents stepped in.

"Please have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Stotch," Principal Victoria gestured them to the chairs on either side of Butters. "I'd like to thank you both for taking the time to come in."

All eyes were on Butters. He didn't dare breathe.

"What's he done now?" barked Mr. Stotch.

"I only want to share some concerns about some comments your son made at a class meeting with the guidance counselor."

Butters wanted to disappear. _Whatever I said, I know Mom and Dad are gonna be sore._

"Butters! Were you using foul language? Didn't I teach you anything about..."

Mr. Mackey forced a little power into his voice. "Mr. Stotch, I recently had a dialogue with your son's class, m'kay, due to several students' complaints about the behavior of a school employee. During that conversation, Butters made a statement about some... um... sexual activity going on between him and one of his family members, m'kay."

"Huh?" gasped Butters.


	2. Forbidden Fruit

Mrs. Stotch raised her hands to her mouth. "Oh dear! We had no idea. If we knew, we would have put a stop to it." Her husband nodded to her; his eyes were closed and he swallowed a lump in his throat.

Butters thought about the class discussion, and thought about what he might have said that was bad. Then he remembered. The words had just tumbled out of him, and Butters didn't give it another thought. Sure, he was supposed to focus on whether Chef had touched him here or touched him there, but Chef's hands had always been busy serving the hot lunch, or wrapped around pretty ladies _. Chef ain't never tickled me anywhere. Only Uncle Bud does that, because he loves me._

Like always, Butters aimed to please. When he saw Detective Jarvis demonstrate something he recognized, he couldn't help announcing, "My Uncle Bud did that to me once!" There. _At least someone's paying attention to the nice man who came all the way from the police station to talk to us._

Mr. Mackey leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. "Butters, please tell your parents what you told us, m'kay."

"W-well, the man asked us, 'Did Chef do this?'" To the shock of all the adults, Butters candidly pantomimed the detective performing anilingus on the doll. "And I told him that one time Uncle Bud put his mouth on my butthole."

"Oh my God!" squealed Mrs. Stotch.

Mr. Stotch leapt up and wrapped an arm around her. "There, there, Linda."

Clearing his throat, Mr. Mackey spoke. "I know this must be very difficult for you. Sexual abuse is bad, m'kay."

Looking at the stunned Stotches, Principal Victoria added, "But you shouldn't blame yourselves. We want to help..."

"That's right," Mr. Stotch continued, patting his wife's hand. "Don't blame yourself. Blame this delinquent for making up filthy lies about our family!" He smacked Butters in the back of the head.

Regaining her composure, Mrs. Stotch crossed her arms and glared at Butters. "Why would you do such a thing? Your Aunt Nellie and Uncle Bud are so good to you, and this is how you thank them?"

"I know Uncle Bud loves me," protested Butters. "That's why he tickled my butt with his tongue."

"That does it, young man," Mr. Stotch declared. "You are grounded!"

Butters looked at the floor. "Aww, gee." He knew it was coming.

A torrent of cackling noise echoed in the wall. "What was that? It sounds like someone laughing." Mrs. Stotch looked to Mrs. Garrison.

"Probably a gas leak," Mrs. Garrison answered without interest. "Something's always screwed up around here."

The noise continued, but Mr. Stotch ignored it, focused on Butters. "Now tell your teachers you're sorry for being a compulsive liar."

Mr. Mackey, Mrs. Garrison, and Principal Victoria watched in silence as Butters tapped his knuckles and repeated, "I'm sorry for being a c-compulsive liar."

"That's better," said Mr. Stotch. "I'm sorry our miserable excuse for a son was causing problems with all his smutty talk. I'm sure we won't have to have this conversation again."

"No, sir." Butters couldn't look at any of them. He was sure he remembered his uncle Bud stroking his back, then sliding a hand into the waistband of his polka dot pyjama bottoms, and... _No. I'm a liar and I need to stop making up stories about my uncle._

Mr. Stotch rose and led the way to the door. Mrs. Stotch grudgingly grabbed Butters by the arm and dragged him out of the office. "See you tomorrow, Mrs. Garrison," said Butters, sweetly, giving a parting wave.

Principal Victoria called after the Stotches, "Thank you again for..." The door slammed. "...for coming in."

Mrs. Garrison drew a long breath. "Wow. And I thought my family was fucked up."

"It's no wonder the Stotch boy is acting out sexually, m'kay. He is trying to reassure himself that someone loves him."

Principal Victoria was not convinced, "Excuse me, but aren't you two going to consider the possibility that what he said was true?"

"Oh, please." Mrs. Garrison crossed her legs and arms. "Kids make crap up. My whole class lies all the time. And the language! You wouldn't believe the shit that comes out of the little asshats' mouths."

"The sexual behavior is a problem. The students did not take Sexual Education seriously, m'kay."

"Why would they? There's the language, and then there's the way they dress. The tight pants, tank tops, I bet some of them even wear thong underwear. No wonder the boys are falling through the cracks; they're distracted by a G-string in someone's ass crack! Show them a thong, and they'll do anything." Mrs. Garrison's voice was rising. "Some schools have already banned thongs, and, as a woman, I find them degrading. I think South Park Elementary should be next to ban them."

Principal Victoria listened, but could not make sense of the tirade. "Are you sure that's a good idea? What if they become more interested in sexuality because it's 'forbidden'?"

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Garrison continued. "Sure, why not let them wear their thongs and two-ways, or get a prince albert for shits and giggles. Next thing you know, they'll be coming to school naked and screwing in the hallway. Should I just teach them how to use poppers while we're at it?"

"That's enough, Mrs. Garrison!" interrupted Principal Victoria. "If it's that much of a problem, we'll issue a ban on sexually provocative clothing."

Mr. Mackey blushed and cleared his throat. "I better go dismiss the kids in detention," and dashed across the hall. When he reached the safety of the library, he collapsed into a chair. It was such a relief to get away from the rush of estrogen flowing in the office that the absence of the students assigned to detention was inconsequential.

But public enemy #1 was much closer than Mr. Mackey realized. Cartman still sat motionless, scarcely breathing so he could hear Butters' confession, hanging off every word of the discussion. _My Uncle Bud... mouth on my butthole... grounded... fall through the cracks... thong underwear... they'll do anything. Sweet._ A sordid tale from Butters and the disclosure of a weapon of class disruption meant days of amusement ahead. Once Cartman was sure that the conversation in the office had descended into recaps of the newest episodes of "Hormonal Housewives" and that there were no more juicy details to be heard, he tiptoed out of the closet and out the gym door.

The frigid air hit him, and he hustled back to his neighborhood like there was a bucket of KFC waiting for him. "Funny. As. Fuck!" he panted, stopping to catch his breath. He looked up to see three shapes shooting baskets on the fenced-in court. Good, a captive audience. He shot across the street, where a car had to swerve wildly to avoid hitting him. "You guys! You guys!" Cartman yelled, and he fell to his knees on the asphalt, laughing and wheezing.


	3. Uncle Fuckahs

"Oh no." Already, Stan and Kyle didn't want to hear it.

Cartman stood, brushing the dust off his pants, having regained enough composure to speak. "I just heard Butters talking about his uncle sucking his ass!"

The other three boys were skeptical. "No, you didn't," Stan declared.

"Guys, I'm seriously! Butters' parents came in and grounded him because he's an uncle fucker!" Cartman broke into jubilant song: "Shut your fucking face, uncle fuckah! You're a cock-sucking, ass-licking uncle fuckah! Come on, Kinny, sing it with me! You know you want to."

Kenny gyrated and sang: (You're with your uncle gettin' sounded. That's the reason you got grounded!)

Cartman laughed, then stopped abruptly. "Wait, what's 'sounded'?" Now it was Kenny's turn to laugh uncontrollably, while his friends exchanged confused stares. Cartman resumed, "I know what I'm talking about. I met his uncle when I pretended to be AWESOM-O. Total creeper." Giving it some more thought, Cartman added, "I should have seen it before. Butters _would_ like taking it up the pooper." Kenny considered what he knew of Butters and seemed to advert to the evidence. Kyle and Stan looked troubled, not wanting to think of their friend that way.

"Look," Stan said severely, "Butters gets grounded all the time. There's no way it's because he was fucking his uncle."

"Wanna bet?" Cartman put his hands on his hips and added in a sassy tone, "If Butters tells us he fucked his uncle, Kahl has to fuck _his_ uncle."

"Fine!" Kyle shot back.

"Dude," warned Stan, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder. But the redhead was on fire.

"But if you're wrong, you've gotta... dress in drag and fuck _your_ uncle!" Kyle was ready to shut Cartman up one way or another.

"Dude!" Stan had heard enough, but Kenny found the raised stakes intriguing.

Much to Kyle's chagrin, so did Cartman. "Ooh, Kahl. Is that what you fantasize about at night while you're counting your money?" Cartman caressed himself all over, giving his ass a little spank.

Stan covered his ears. "Whatever! Just... if we just ask Butters, can we stop talking about this?"

"Yes. And after Kahl fucks his uncle."

Kyle growled and seethed, following the others to Butters' house, tucking the basketball under his arm. _I wish I could smash fat boy's head in with this thing._

Up in his room, Butters sat hanging his head. His father towered over him; the angry lecture that began in the principal's office was finally drawing to a close. "As we speak, your mother is on the phone with your Uncle Bud, inviting him for a visit so you can apologize to him personally."

"Yes, sir." Butters still couldn't look at his father. _I don't know how he puts up with me and all my nonsense._

"That's that. Now turn over." It was like asking Butters to go brush his teeth. Butters complied, pulling down his pants and draping his body over his father's lap. THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Mr. Stotch stood up, allowing Butters to clothe himself again. "Can you tell me why I spanked you, son?"

Butters gave his father a sidelong glance, then quickly looked away again. "Be-because you love me."

"That's right. Now go wash up for dinner."

All alone, Butters intended to obey his father, until he heard something heavy hit the window. A basketball. Butters looked out the window and saw his friends. Kenny and Cartman looked very pleased to see him, while Stan and Kyle looked pensive. (Hey, Butters!) called Kenny, through his parka.

"Oh, uh, hey guys," said Butters. "I can't come out and play on accounta I'm grounded."

"We know," Stan answered. "But—"

"Butt!" Cartman quickly covered his face with his hands. His anticipation was so great that any mention of nether regions, real or imagined, was more than he could handle.

Kyle shoved Cartman, who whined and rubbed his arm. "Could you tell us why you got grounded?" Kyle finished.

Stan, still unmoved, added, "It's sort of important, I guess."

Looking around, as if to make sure there were no younger children present to hear the tale, Butters confessed, "I was bein' real bad, see. I was makin' up bad lies about my uncle Bud. I shouldnta done that, 'cuz my uncle Bud loves me a whole lot."

Kyle shoved Cartman again. "Aha! I knew it!"

"Quit it, Kahl!" Cartman shoved Kyle back before turning his attention to Butters. "Butters, you fucktard! At school you said your uncle was licking your asshole!"

Innocently, Butters answered, "I said some naughty words, but my parents straightened me right out. I won't say my uncle did things he didn't do."

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny looked at Cartman, waiting for an explanation. "I'm not making this up!" Cartman yelled, stomping his foot peevishly. "You guys were there when he said it! It's not my fault you guys never listen to him!"

Kenny picked up singing again: (Better go get ready, uncle fuckah! Put on your hottest teddy, uncle fuckah!) He nudged Cartman and winked.

Cartman was enraged. "This isn't over, dickhole. You're gonna be sorry!" he screamed up at a startled Butters, who shut the window and disappeared. Cartman then turned his attention to Kyle, and his shouts turned into an eerie hiss, which was much more terrifying. "And you _are_ gonna fuck your uncle. I'll make damn sure of that."

Kyle rolled his eyes. _How does he never see what a hypocrite he is?_ _He makes it too easy._ "Is that what you fantasize about while you're stuffing your fat face?"

Cartman turned pale. "I…" He swallowed hard. Searching for support, he saw only Stan's disapproval and Kenny humming endless refrains of "Uncle Fuckah" to himself, before looking back to Kyle's cool smirk. Cartman blurted, "I'm not fat!" and scampered away.

Now it was Kyle's turn to enjoy a satisfied, but short-lived chuckle. "Gross, man. What if Cartman really _does_ fantasize about that?"

(Wouldn't surprise me. I think he's secretly into some kinky shit.) Kenny pictured Ms. Cartman's appearance in _Crack Whore Magazine_. (Maybe it runs in the family.)

"I gotta get home for dinner," said Kyle. "Later, guys."

"Me too. See ya, Kenny." The boys exchanged waves.

Before going home to see if there were still some Hot Pockets or at least some bottles of booze in the fridge, Kenny turned and looked up at Butters' window. The light was out, and Butters was nowhere to be seen. Kenny had thought the story was another one of Cartman's sick jokes, but alone in the silence, Kenny wasn't so sure. _Where does Cartman get this stuff? Butters wouldn't say something like that. Would he?_ Kenny's stomach was beginning to speak to him. (I guess I'll go home and see if there is anything for dinner.) He walked home, but looked over his shoulder every few moments, as if he thought he might see Butters come back to the window.


	4. Gentlemen Prefer Thongs

"Can I get you anything else, Poopsie-kins?" Ms. Cartman placed a bag of bacon-coated pork rinds next to a chocolate KFC-chicken pot pie on top of a plate of powdered doughnut pancake surprise. "Maybe a nice glass of chocolate milk?"

Cartman had expected a mountain of his favorite foods to help his mood, but how could it when Kyle was at home _not_ getting a piledriver from his uncle, no thanks to Butters? Then, he thought back to Mrs. Garrison's response to the meeting. _Thong underwear. Boys will do anything._ "Maaaaahm," pleaded Cartman, putting on his most adorable pout. "What are thongs?"

The warmth in her smile remained unchanged, delighted by her son's apparently innocent curiosity. "Well, Eric, they're underwear that show your bottom. Showing some bottom makes men pay more attention to you, and a thong gives them a place to tuck your money. Why do you ask?"

"No reason, Mahmmy. I love you." When his mother left the room, the plotting resumed. _I will make those guys pay. I will make them listen to me._

Across the train tracks, Kenny could hear his parents in their bedroom. _Smash!_ "You no-good son-of-a-bitch! You blew your whole cheque on whiskey and beer!"

Kenny's father hollered something unintelligible, and there were several thuds. Mrs. McCormick screamed. With his parents distracted, Kenny took the opportunity to root through the pantry for something more to eat. Half a bowl of lukewarm beef stock just didn't do the job. (Hmmm. Bread?) He opened the bag to find the insides of the slices coated green and slimy. (Nope. Cereal?) He opened a box. Just mice inside. Kenny stuffed the box back in the cupboard. (At least you bastards are full. What's in the fridge? Great, black bananas.) Kenny saw a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. (Why not?)

He took two cans back to his room and tried to read comic books, but the noise down the hall prevented him from enjoying the story, at least until the alcohol kicked in. He was used to his parents' fights, but he began to wonder, _What if Cartman was right about Butters? Butters' parents are batshit insane. Who knows what the rest of his family is like._ On top of Kenny's growing guilt for joining in with Cartman's mockery, the idea of a lecherous man preying on Butters made Kenny's blood boil. (Something has to be done.)

"Something has to be done." Cartman pounded his fist on the desk. With his mother busy in the kitchen, he crept into her bedroom and began opening all the dresser drawers containing his mother's copious lingerie stash. "Mrs. Garrison said that boys will do anything if they see someone wearing thong underwear. Let's see Kyle and Butters resist these." He grabbed a fistful of thongs and ran back to his bedroom.

Once inside with the door closed, Cartman slid off his pants and briefs. He selected a black, ruffled little number and turned it over and over in his hands. "How do you tell the front from the back?" Finally, he sorted it out as best he could and stepped into it. Now, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He adjusted himself so that his private parts were cradled by a triangle of lace. A lace strap travelled up his backside. The waistband was stretchy enough to accommodate his frame, but dug into the fat on his hips. He turned around slowly, then slid out of his coat to get a better look. The tee shirt had to come off, too. Now, as Cartman stood wearing nothing but a shred of black lace, he could see himself clearly at all angles.

Even though he was used to the look of his nude body, and the thong left little to the imagination, it inspired Cartman to nod and breathe the words, "So fine." He slipped a finger into the waistband, pulled it outwards, then released it. The elastic snapped back into Cartman's hip, sending flesh rippling in all directions. "So damn fine." He stood with his legs apart and traced his sides with his fingers. "You _will_ do what I want, Butters. You will tell everyone about your uncle-fucking." He pointed into the mirror, imagining he speaking to the other boy and was exerting control even more powerful than usual over him. _Soon, I will have my very own thong-zombie. A thongbie, if you will._ As he let his hand drop, it grazed his thigh.

A chill shot up Cartman's spine. He was suddenly acutely aware of the rub of the lace on his skin, most of all in the sensitive spots between his legs. There was a slinkiness to the material that made it completely irresistible. His hand hovered over his groin, but he stopped himself. "I shouldn't have looked in the mirror. I can't run the risk of becoming a thongbie myself." He seemed to accept this affirmation, but a moment later, his hand was heading south again.

This was far from his first time dressing up in something frilly and skimpy. But this was the first time he could drink in the sight of himself so exposed. "You want me, don't you?" he whispered coyly to his reflection. One hand cupped his groin, stroking the organs through the lace. The whole area tingled, forcing him to his knees before he could lose his balance. His eyes squeezed shut at the unfamiliar sensation, the only way he could take his eyes off the mirror. When he opened his eyes again, he looked down to see what was making him feel so good, but was unable to see past his belly. Even the mirror seemed to tease him now; only a hint of the black thong was visible amidst his flesh. "Aw, dammit," he whined, needy. He lay on his back, allowing him easier access and a better view.

His erection was small but unrelenting, not unlike himself. It threatened to peek out the side of the thong. With thumb and finger, he kneaded the head, gasping as his foreskin pulled back, before tucking himself back inside the panties. Focusing again on his reflection, his recumbent pose evoked images of magazine ads, or better yet, a giant billboard over Interstate 70. His ill-fated past adventures in dress up could not have been farther from his mind; in this fantasy, gruesome car accidents piled up from drivers wanting to admire him. "Everyone will be mesmerized by my sweet ass. Especially…" His excitement reaching a crescendo, something prompted him to squeak, "Wow, Eric. I'd sure like to take off your clothes and lu lu lu…"

In his alarm from the words that escaped his mouth, he bucked his hips into his hand and gripped himself tightly. The tingling feeling was swallowed by something overwhelming. "Shhh…shit!" He flopped flat on his back and lay silent, save his heavy panting. Finally, he wiped his forehead with his hand. Both were wet. But his hand was sticky.

"Eric, honey!"

"What?" Cartman sat up quickly, his panting growing heavy again in surprise. "I mean, yes, Mahm?"

"Time to take a bath and get ready for night-nights."

Cartman wobbled to his feet and headed for the door, nearly forgetting his robe. As he hurried down the hall to the bathroom, he heard his mother's footsteps in her room. He quickly opened the door to the closet, kicked off the thong, and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sinking into the warm bath felt wonderful, and the feeling of contentment hung around like the steam in the air. But he couldn't erase the nagging memory of the words: _Take off your clothes and lu lu lu_. They played over and over in his mind from bath to brush to bed.

Later that evening, with her son long since trundled off, Ms. Cartman looked in the closet for an extra blanket. She retrieved it, but then the door wouldn't close. Puzzled, she looked down to see a black thing stuck in the door. Picking it up, she recognized it instantly. "So _that's_ where this got to. I don't know how it missed the laundry on orgy night."


	5. Nightmare Fuel

While Cartman slept easily, rest eluded Butters. He kept his body quite still; it was his mind that was tossing and turning. _What am I gonna say to my uncle Bud when he gets here tomorrow?_ He knew he had to say he was sorry, at least if he wanted to have the freedom to leave the house ever again. But that wasn't enough of an answer. _You can't just say sorry because someone tells you to. It has to come from inside._ Lying alone in the dark and quiet always allowed his thoughts to speak a little louder than they could around other people. Those thoughts told him that what he had said about his uncle was not a pack of lies. It was a memory about which there was no mistake.

 _I told Mom and Dad that I love Uncle Bud, and I know he loves me. I was trying to be a good nephew. So why'd I get in trouble with everybody?_ He sat up and rested his chin on his hands. It was during that visit to L.A. He rolled his eyes as he remembered tucking Eric "AWESOM-O" Cartman into bed after their first day there. _Now that's a liar who needed to get punished. But I gave him a darn good seeing to._ He giggled in spite of himself. _I don't think Eric will be dressing up like a lady anymore._ Every now and then he still popped that tape in the VCR to watch Cartman shaking his butt, juicy enough to rival that of Jennifer Lopez or Kim Kardashian.

Butters refocused himself. _Lessee, I put Eric to bed, and I went to finish sending all the money to needy children…_

With AWESOM-O "powered down" in the guest room, Butters tried to finish addressing the envelopes before bed. He was nearly finished when he heard Aunt Nellie's voice. "Butters, it's getting late. It's time to put on your PJ's and get ready for bed. You and your 'robot' have lots of sight-seeing to do tomorrow!" She was wrapped in a fuzzy pink robe, clearly ready for bed herself.

"Al-alright." Butters gave his aunt a squeeze. They exchanged good-nights, and he quickly changed into his polka-dotted pyjamas and brushed his teeth. Putting his toothbrush and toothpaste back into his overnight bag, he remembered his medicine.

"Good night, Butters." The boy looked up to see his uncle Bud's shape outside the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. "Is it okay if I come in and give you a hug?"

Butters opened the door and wrapped his arms around Uncle Bud. "Well, sure!" he answered cheerily, and went back to the bag.

"So, ah… How're you liking your visit so far?" asked Bud, leaning against the counter. He seemed overly cool and slightly uncomfortable all at once.

 _Maybe he's worried I'm not having a good time._ Quick to put that theory to rest, Butters beamed. "Gee, me and AWESOM-O are havin' so much fun! We're going to go help out some movie producers come up with more ideas tomorrow."

Bud nodded along with the news, and appeared to be nodding with his whole upper body. There was quiet for a moment, and Bud looked down at his nephew, who held a package of individually wrapped pills in his hand. "Whatcha got there?" Bud asked. There was that very offhand demeanor again.

"I gotta have my suppository. AWESOM-O usually gives it to me, but he's turned off right now." The words were innocent when spoken, but perverted when heard.

"Is that right?" Bud seemed to be smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt, and continued long after any wrinkles could have survived. "Tell you what, kiddo. I can help you with that."

"You will?" Butters looked content. "You don't know how hard it is to get these in all by myself." He handed his uncle one of the tablets. No sooner had he done so than he felt Bud's other hand massaging his back. Slowly. Deeply. "That feels real nice," cooed Butters. He was used to his uncle's hugs that lingered just a little, or kisses that landed on his mouth or his neck.

Bud's gaze was fixed on the motion of his hand, which momentarily crept up to run fingers through Butters' hair. "You know, you have the most beautiful blonde hair. Just like your aunt."

"Aw, thanks!" Butters showed a sweet delight at the compliment. _Uncle Bud is way nicer than Mom and Dad. He doesn't think my hair looks silly._

"And you're cute like her. Especially when you sing that song."

"Y-you mean: Lu lu lu, I've got some apples, lu lu lu, you got some too!"

"Lu lu lu, let's make some applesauce, take off our clothes and lu lu lu," Bud crooned.

 _Those ain't the words Aunt Nellie taught me. I can learn a lot from Uncle Bud._ Butters continued to hum as the hand then travelled down Butters' spine and slipped beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. Bud clasped at the boy's soft buttocks before sliding the colorful cotton out of the way. At Butters' side, he took a long, hungry look at the boy's exposed lower half, continuing to rub the delicate pink skin. Not used to so much activity leading up to having his medication, Butters asked, "What're ya doin'?"

"Helping. Don't you feel better getting your back rubbed?"

"Uh-huh," Butters agreed, even though he wasn't sure that the places his uncle's hands were exploring now would still qualify as his back. _I guess it is because the word 'backside' has 'back' in it. Hmmm. Is my wiener part of my back, too?_

"Good, good." Bud opened the little packet and repositioned himself behind Butters. "Now, I need you to bend over for me."

Butters complied and said, "N-not too fast. If you go too fast, it'll hurt some."

"Don't worry, I won't," Bud replied. "Just to be on the safe side, I better try something. You like getting tickled, don't you?" Bud ran a playful hand up Butters' side, sending the little blonde into fits of giggles when the tickling reached his underarms.

"I sure do!" squealed Butters.

"Super. I'm going to tickle you some more." Bud used his free hand to spread Butters open, exposing his little pink hole.

Butters didn't know what to expect, but the feeling of something moist flicking against his skin certainly was not it. Wondering, he looked back to see that Bud seemed to be tickling him with his face. With his mouth. "You probably shouldn't do that." Bud looked up, eyes glassy, bracing to hear the child scream for his aunt and wake her. Instead, Butters warned, "My butthole is all ucky."

The man's sigh of relief was warm on Butters' skin. "Shhh. Just relax." Butters did his best, despite being confused by what his body was telling him. The boy squirmed, and Bud used one hand to bend Butters further, so that his upper half rested on the carpeted toilet seat cover. The carpet was soft, but scratchy, prompting Butters to stretch out his arms. Bud now had perfect access, and lapped eagerly. Growing bolder, Bud pressed his tongue against the tiny ring, and with less force than he would have expected, it popped inside. Butters started up a confused whimpering. This only seemed to incite his uncle's fervor. The tongue motions quickened, with more frequent dips inside. Butters tossed his head, needing to respond to the sensations flooding his system, and having few parts free to move.

Suddenly, Bud stopped and sat up. Through ragged breaths, he asked, "How did you like that?"

 _I dunno what he's doing back there, but I don't wanna hurt his feelings or nothin'._ With a slight turn of his head, enough to see Bud out of the corner of his eye, Butters responded, "That… that was real okay."

"Yeah? Then let's get your suppository in there."

Butters felt the tip going in and bit his lip as Bud's finger followed, pushing the tablet deeper inside. "That's good, Uncle Bud. It's in."

Speaking almost before Butters finished, Bud explained, "Well, we want the medicine to do its job, right? So I'm going to try to help it some more. I love you, and I want you to… feel good." Bud nearly withdrew his finger, and pushed it in again. Both held their breath as the finger disappeared inside Butters. Bud was thrilled to find that Butters' condition that required suppositories also caused the boy's muscles to spasm erratically around his finger. After some further exploring in Butters' most private depths, stroking the boy inside just as he had his outside, Bud pulled back his finger and reentered with two.

Only now did Butters make a high-pitched cry. "No, it hurts! It hurts."

Ever keeping his cool, Bud removed his fingers from Butters and wiped them on his jeans. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the boy had made no protest until then. "That'll do the trick," Bud stated. "And you need to run along to bed, young man."

Butters stood up and put his pyjama bottoms back on. Already he could tell that he wouldn't be doing any running that night. He was just ready to get to bed. "Nighty-night, Uncle Bud!" said Butters, to which he got a grunted reply. As soon as Butters passed through the bathroom door, it shut heavily behind him, followed by the urgent unfastening of a belt buckle and zipper. Butters shrugged. "Huh. Guess he really needed to make." The last thing he remembered was crawling into bed next to AWESOM-O and drifting off.

Looking back at that night, Butters analyzed his actions over and over. "I just don't get it. He really did that, and I told the truth. What'd I do wrong?"


	6. Mysterion Begins

Butters sat on his bed, hugging his knees, furrowing his brow. The more thought he gave the matter, the more he felt his stomach twisting up on him. He flopped onto his back and stared blankly, hoping for sleep. _I'll think better if I can just get a little shuteye._ The silence was oppressive and forced his mind to invent sounds to hear. It sounded like footsteps coming from everywhere. Shadows taunted the eyes that could not close.

"It sure is spooky at night," Butters whispered to himself, needing to hear a human voice. "That shadow there almost looks like…" Butters jumped in surprise to see a crouching silhouette on his windowsill. In a reflex, Butters inhaled deeply to scream, but covered his face with his pillow in an attempt at protecting himself from the intruder, and from awakening his parents.

"Do not fear me, Butters," rasped the voice. The body was a child's, cloaked and masked, with a green question mark springing from the crown of his head.

This was a command that even obedient Butters could not follow. "Who are you? Are you a ghost or somethin'? Why are you h-here?" he squeaked, still hiding partially behind his pillow.

The boy in the window replied, "I am Mysterion. I know many things, for I walk in darkness. I know many secrets, the nameless terrors that cannot be spoken."

His explanation did little to calm Butters, who was already frightened of his guest's appearance; now he had to be afraid of that the boy knew. "You know my secret?" Only one secret came to mind: the one he kept in the closet. _He knows that I am Professor Chaos. It's too bad he'll find himself the victim of a terrible misfortune. I'll offer him some iced tea with sugar, but give him salt instead!_ Butters' voice was a little coarser when he added, "I suppose it was only a matter of time before my secret identity was revealed."

"Yes, I know all about your secret identity. But that is not the reason for my presence."

"It ain't?" He felt like mild-mannered Butters again at this news. A little bit of the Professor's boldness remained, prompting Butters to ask, "What secret do you know about?"

"I am here about your uncle."

"Son of a biscuit!" Butters turned away, fearing the worst. "I really got myself in a pickle talking about Uncle Bud." He covered his mouth, fearful that even saying his uncle's name was off-limits. "I'm sorry!"

Mysterion's eyes were nearly lost in shadow, but there was a flicker of sadness. "No. You are not the one who should be sorry. Your bastard uncle is."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you well, Butters. Lies aren't part of your nature, and neither is filth." Discussing the situation in words that would make sense to Butters wasn't easy, particularly when trying to keep up his austere image.

"My uncle was helping me with my medicine. I said it was somethin' dirty, but my Uncle Bud wouldn't d-do nothin' dirty." Butters echoed, still concerned about the possible consequences of his words.

"Forget your uncle; forget your parents. Hell, forget me. I'm asking you. Did it feel dirty?"

Butters crawled across his bed, inching closer to the other boy, who was perched like a caped gargoyle. "Yes." In this answer, there was no doubt. The weight of this epiphany plummeted down on him. No longer could something as simple as the act of offering help be trusted outright. When Butters raised his head, trying to meet Mysterion's eyes, he could see nothing but the cloaked silhouette. Mysterion, however, was met with the face of a child whose innocence had been damaged. It pained Mysterion, who had shed his innocence layer by layer at the hands of his own family, but he could not remember ever being as delicate as Butters. Seeing the boy wide-eyed and confused, Mysterion reminded himself over and over that he was not the cause of Butters' distress, but was shouldered with the task of showing Butters the concern that no one else in his world would.

Several moments of silence passed as Butters tried to process. "It don't matter what Mom and Dad say?"

"Only as much as you let it matter. What matters most is knowing that it wasn't your fault."

Even in the wake of discovering how deeply his uncle had betrayed him, Butters couldn't help but put his trust in the unknowable figure watching over him. "Mister Sterion, Uncle Bud is visiting us tomorrow. What do I do when my parents want me to say sorry to him?"

Mysterion had to steady himself to avoid revealing his shock and disgust with the idea that Butters would be made to apologize to his attacker. "That uncle of yours needs to be put in his place."

"Where's that?"

"I mean he should be punished. And your parents won't have a say in it."

Butters had hoped for a simple phrase he could say to his uncle to make the problem disappear. This was starting to sound like something dangerous that would only cause him more trouble later. Besides, his uncle had spent so much time being a good uncle to him. "Uh, I dunno. I don't wanna upset nobody."

"I won't make your decisions for you; it's too bad your uncle didn't show the same compassion. Only if you are ready for my help will I offer it." Seeing that Butters' only response was to lower his gaze and rub his knuckles together, Mysterion shook his head solemnly. "So be it. But should you find yourself in danger, I am never far away." The boy whisked his cape and took a fearless leap from the ledge.

 _He oughta be careful. He could get himself killed trying something like that._ Once outside the window, the dark figure seemed to have vanished completely. In the midst of Mysterion's daring leap, something else caught Butters' eye. If he had blinked, he'd have missed it. On the back of Mysterion's waistband were two letters scribbled in marker. "K.M.? I wonder what that means. King Mysterion? He didn't look much like a king to me."

Butters slipped back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The bed felt more inviting now. He was sure that when his uncle arrived, Butters could sit down to talk about it with him and life would go on. "I'll tell him that was bad, what he did, but I forgive him." The boy was satisfied with this, and was hopeful about the following day. "I'm glad King Mysterion came to see me. Even though he is a l-little scary." Butters had many questions and few answers. Yet, there was a strong, protective quality to his visitor. That was enough to let Butters ease into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Rise and Sparkle

At 7:00 A.M., Ms. Cartman climbed the stairs to her son's room to wake him for school. Most mornings, she was met with incomprehensible whining and needed to negotiate with him over additional minutes in bed, only to finally coax him up with the promise of sugary breakfast treats. This particular morning, she had barely made it to the top of the stairs when she saw the bathroom light on and heard a little voice humming away. She peeked through the open door, and there was Eric combing his hair, a sweet smile on his lips and a song in his throat. He wore a dress shirt that she had never seen him wear voluntarily, and was that the smell of cocoa butter? Her heart melted as she watched him preening.

"Good morning! What's my little sunshine doing up so early?" She clasped her hands with delight. _Maybe César's training did the trick after all. I should give him a call and see if he wants some company tonight._

"Hello, Mahm. I just want to look my very best for school today."

Ms. Cartman sensed that there had to be some personal reason for the boy's behavior. Nothing dark and devious, but maybe… Of course! "Are you getting all dressed up for a special little girl?"

"No, no, silly Mahmmy." The pleasant demeanor remained. "I'm getting dressed up for a special little boy." He went back to adjusting his shirt collar, not noticing his mother raise a surprised hand to her mouth.

"Oh, I see. Well, pumpkin, I want you to know that I completely support what you're doing. And I'm sure your 'friend' won't be able to take his eyes off you." She stepped into the bathroom, placed her hands on Eric's shoulders and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Her darling Eric still wore an innocent smile on his face, but he was laughing on the inside. _No, he won't. Pretty soon everyone will know that Butters likes getting a crap tickle, and Kahl will be next._ "Why thank you," was all he dared say.

"Well, come on downstairs when you're finished. You'll need a good breakfast for your big day." She returned to the kitchen. Without needing to go through the daily drama of getting her son out of bed, she had ample time to prepare him something extra delicious.

The mention of breakfast prompted Cartman to lick the last of the cocoa butter off his fingers. _Not bad._ It was way better than the baking chocolate he had helped himself to at Stan's house earlier in the week. _Whoever sold that as chocolate needs to get their ass sued._ He made a quick trip back to his room to collect his hat and coat. The hat was on his bedpost, but the coat was still on the floor where he had left it the night before. As he bent down to pick it up, Cartman's new favorite accessory became visible over the top of his pants. It was a glittery hot pink thong, emblazoned with rhinestone hearts.

Cartman looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked himself over, more pleased than ever, and turned his attention to the stuffed frog lying on the bed, propped up against a pillow. "What do you think, Clyde Frog?" Cartman answered himself through the side of his mouth. "'Why Eric, I am feeling so drawn to you right now. Your wish is my command!' Thank you, Clyde Frog, but I must be going. Perhaps later you can shower me with admiration." He wanted time to hurry up so he could get to school and take control of Butters, Kyle, and anyone else he saw fit. The smell of waffles met him on the stairs. He could wait a little longer. There was definitely time for waffles.

Kenny was up early, too. He was even the first to the bus stop. While his three friends needed time to adjust to the crisp mountain air before leaving home, Kenny spent his nights in a house with no heat and some holes in the walls. At least school had a guaranteed lunch and plenty of girls who might tantalize him with miniskirts, the humble beginnings of breasts, or a lacy strap slipping free from under clothing. This morning, girls weren't important. _No, girls are always important. But I gotta find out if Butters is doing okay._

When Stan and Kyle joined him, they tossed a greeting in his direction and went back to jabbering about math problems or Kyle's upcoming basketball game or something. _Is that all they have to say? A kid – our friend! – could be going through hell right now._

"Hey, what's the matter, Kenny?" Stan gave his friend's arm a little shake to get his attention.

(Huh?)

"You look really tired. Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

(Nah. I couldn't sleep. I had a lot on my mind.) That was as much as he wanted to say. They were his best friends, but they'd never understand the whole story. They'd never believe that he woke up in his bed, not after sleeping, but after taking a skull-shattering fall from a window. They certainly wouldn't understand that it was Butters' safety he had had on his mind. _I'm not even letting Butters know I'm worried about him, so there's no way I'm telling these guys about that. It'd sound like the gayest thing ever. I'll just watch for anything that doesn't seem right._

It wasn't long before all three boys spotted something that didn't seem right. Along came Cartman, who seemed to be walking a little differently than usual. Slowly. More carefully. Stan and Kenny looked blank, but Kyle chortled as Cartman wordlessly joined the group. Kyle wanted to keep his comments to himself, but he couldn't hold back. "Wow, fatass. Looks like your uncle kept you on the edge of your seat last night." Stan and Kyle eagerly awaited an atomic temper tantrum, but uncle jokes had completely lost their appeal for Kenny.

Inside his yellow mittens, Cartman's fists began to tighten. He shoved his hands into his pockets and reminded himself to hold off his fury a little longer. Soon, he'd be yanking their strings, with a little help from his G-string. "Kahl, let's leave the lame comedy to Jimmy, if you don't mind."

Kyle did mind, but only because Cartman was so stoic, not getting upset or hurling an anti-Semitic tirade at him. _I hate this calm act. He always gets like this right before he does something psychotic. Not this time, you asshole._

The bus pulled up, and the boys piled on. Kyle chatted with Stan while keeping a watchful eye on Cartman, who still suspiciously appeared to be on his best behavior. Kenny climbed onto the bus last. He scanned the seats for Butters and quickly spotted him sitting by himself, looking preoccupied. Pausing, Kenny almost asked how Butters was doing, but the bus was too quiet. He could check on Butters later.


	8. The Spandex Inquisition

The kids got off the bus and kicked the snow off their shoes as they filed into the school. On one side of Butters shuffled Kenny, keeping an eye on his friend. He was watching for any sign that something was amiss, but he wasn't sure what that would look like, as Butters was usually all sunshine and rainbows. On the other side was Cartman. The chubby boy was packed tightly into dress clothes, clearly trying to turn on the charm. "Oh, Butters! _So_ nice to _see_ you!" he chirped, patting Butters on the arm. "What's goin' on?"

Kenny rolled his eyes. _Whatever. Drop the act and leave the kid alone._

"Well, my uncle is coming to visit for the weekend." He tried to sound happy, but anxiety seeped into the words. Kenny gravitated closer to the other two boys so that he could be included in the conversation.

"That's so kewl." The act continued. "Maybe I can bring over a plate of my mahm's delicious cookies for him to have." Cartman looked at Kenny and made a spectacle of winking and pointing at the unknowing Butters.

Butters trusted in every word. "That'd be awful nice. Then everybody'd feel b-better and Uncle Bud could leave."

Finally, Kenny asked, (Is everything okay at home?)

"Yes, it almost sounds like you don't want your uncle to visit," Cartman added, a little louder than necessary, expecting all the boys to immediately stop in their tracks and listen to him. Stan and Kyle were walking a few steps ahead and kept discussing the latest episode of _Family Guy_. They were used to tuning Cartman out, and made sure to add some extra enthusiasm to their chatter about one of Cartman's least favorite things. Still using his outdoor voice, Cartman continued. "After all, I thought you _loved_ your uncle. It seems kind of strange that – oh no!" Abruptly, Cartman forcefully tossed his books, pencils, and crayons at Stan and Kyle.

Stan bumped into Craig, who automatically jabbed him with his elbow. Kyle skidded on some pencils, crashed into Bebe and pinned her against a locker. Unlike Craig, Bebe did not object to the close contact. "Hey, handsome." Kyle paid her no attention, and was already turning towards Cartman. "What the fuck was that for?"

"How clumsy of me. I have dropped all of my school supplies." Cartman enunciated each syllable, one of his many attention-getting devices. "I will just have to bend down and pick them all up." Cartman tried to align his ass with Butters' line of sight. _That's right. Take a good look, and you'll tell us about your uncle taking a taste of your Hershey Highway. And give me all of your lunch money._ Brimming with anticipation, Cartman bent down to pick up his things, and a sparkly pink strap became visible over the top of his pants. He fully expected Butters to launch into an even more graphic retelling than the one in Principal Victoria's office. Instead, he heard a commotion from inside Mrs. Garrison's classroom. He looked up to see all the kids, including Butters, clustered at the door, not paying him a shred of attention. "Weak."

Mrs. Garrison was blocking the door so that none of the kids could get in. "Okay, children, today we will be introducing a new school policy. Starting today, all teachers are required to make sure students are wearing appropriate undergarments." Confusion rippled among the kids. "That means no thongs, g-strings, two-ways, banana hammocks, and no freeballing."

"What, now?" asked Butters.

"All the raunchy skankiness in this class is going to stop. Frankly, it is offensive to my delicate feminine constitution. Alright Pip, get in here and drop your drawers."

Pip had no wish to be first, but was happy to get the matter over with as his classmates snickered. "Right-o," Pip squeaked as he stepped into the classroom.

In the hall, Cartman had just finished scooping up all of his books and writing utensils, disappointed to have lost his audience. He joined the back of the cluster of children only to overhear Wendy and Bebe's nervous whispers. "You don't think she's really going to make us pull our pants down in front of everyone… do you?" Even Bebe had to draw the line somewhere.

Wendy tried to sound more confident than she felt. "No, no. I don't think so. There's no way Principal Victoria would let her do that."

Mrs. Garrison spoke again. "Okay. You won't need to pay a visit to the principal. Go take your seat." Wendy and Bebe gaped.

Pip was relieved. "I promise you, Mrs. Garrison. I would but deign to wear naughty knickers."

"Yeah, yeah, shut your piehole already." All the boys laughed at Pip from force of habit. But it wasn't their usual laughter, knowing that they were not far behind. Mrs. Garrison beckoned, "Jenny, you're next."

Only Cartman was able to laugh to his heart's content. He was being practically invited to remove his pants for all to see. _Awesome. I'll go last, and then I'll unleash my weapon of class disruption. Mrs. Garrison will never be able to restore order._ He watched attentively as the group of children ahead of him got smaller and smaller.

"Silk boxers. Very nice, Token." Token pulled up his pants and took his seat, exchanging pissed expressions with Craig. "Kyle, you're next." Cartman stood on his tiptoes, straining to see what would happen. Kyle didn't move. "Come on, Kyle. I'd like to get you all checked this year."

"I'm not showing you my underwear."

"You don't have a choice, Kyle."

Stan didn't want to watch his best friend be exposed in front of the class. It was bad enough that he had had to see it happen to Wendy. _But damn, was she cute in her My Little Horsie panties… No, Stan. Focus._ "But Mrs. Garrison, if you're making us show you our underwear, isn't that just giving more attention to something you think is getting too much attention in the first place?"

Kyle added, "Plus, I would never wear a thong. That is really, really gay."

Cartman snorted. _Getting boys to do whatever you want is gay, Kyle? We'll see about that._ Cartman reached between Stan and Butters and shoved Kyle through the doorway.

Still refusing to stop, Mrs. Garrison pulled on Kyle's waistband. "Terrence and Phillip boxers. You're in the clear, but you're not going to get laid anytime soon." An appalled Kyle took his seat, watching Mrs. Garrison with contempt as she checked Stan, Kenny, and Clyde. Clyde was visibly frightened, but unzipped his jeans just the same. Upon lowering his pants, the bottom of his colostomy bag draped below his shirt. Stan looked away, feeling more uncomfortable now than when he had to show his own underwear. Cartman craned his neck around the kids in front of him to get a peek before burying his face in his sleeve, trying to pass his laughter off as a coughing fit. Satisfied, Mrs. Garrison knelt down next to Clyde, and lectured, "I know with your… condition… your underwear aren't the first thing anyone's going to be looking at. But tighty-whities? That's just dorky. Next!" Clyde buttoned his jeans again and went to his seat, where he buried his face in his hands, breaking into muffled sobs. Stan reached over and patted Clyde on the shoulder.

Finally, only Cartman and Butters remained to be checked. Cartman hid behind the doorframe to be sure that Butters was checked first and sitting front row center when it was Cartman's turn. "Let's go, Butters." Mrs. Garrison stood with her hands on her hips.

Butters stalled. _King Mysterion told me I shouldn't haveta take off my pants if I don't want to._ He stepped timidly through the door, eyes on his desk.

Trying to catch Butters' attention without being noticed by anyone else, Kenny shifted in his seat. _If Mrs. Garrison makes him do that, he's going to think it's okay for any pedo to touch him._ Kenny got out of his seat. (Mrs. Garrison, you've checked almost everybody. Isn't that good enough?) Butters' eyes made the same plea.

"Kenny, take your seat. I am required to check every student. My hands are tied." She reached for Butters' waistband.

(I wish your hands were tied, you tranny bitch.)

"That's nice, Kenny. Go ahead, Butters." No luck. Now, Butters only saw the desk where he desperately wanted to be and his teacher's expectation for him. The boy exhaled and dropped his pants. Some of the other kids still had the nerve to snicker, even after baring their underwear. "What the –?"

In the hall, Cartman could barely breathe from laughing at the sight of Butters in his Hello Kitty training pants. Butters tried to offer Mrs. Garrison a discreet explanation. "I gotta wear 'em 'cos of my heshiated colon." He thought for a moment, then asked softly, "Do you need to check my wiener, too?" He fully expected the answer to be yes, like when Uncle Bud needed to check him.

"No, of course not. Go have a seat. And remember, ladies like me don't want to hear about Captain Winkey and his two first mates."

"Uh, okay then." Butters took his seat.

Mrs. Garrison surveyed her work. Before her sat a class of quiet children wearing acceptable clothing. "Well, I guess that's everyone. And if we keep the sexual behavior out of the classroom, we may not need to have underwear checks every day." _None of them will dare to act up now,_ she thought, pleased.

Her sense of contentment didn't last, as Cartman shot through the classroom door with a precarious stack of school things in his arms. "My turn! My turn!"


	9. An Ass That Wouldn't Quit

Cartman stood before Mrs. Garrison, clasping his hands and batting his eyes. As for Mrs. Garrison, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head. “That’s quite alright, Eric. You may take your seat.” _Please, God, don’t make me scope out the mother of all fat asses._ She opened her eyes, hoping, expecting to see Cartman anywhere other than directly in front of her. But there he was.

“But you’re supposed to check everybody!” A little bit of Cartman’s frustration burst forth, but he regained control of it. “Part of being an educator is treating all students equally.” There was nothing easy about preaching equality through clenched teeth, even though he knew Kyle would see it differently.

Kyle stood up at his desk. “Oh, don’t you even.”

Cartman pulled on Mrs. Garrison’s arm. “It’s not fair to give me special treatment just because I’m smarter than everyone else. Especially Kyle.”

 _I want to let that blubbery piece of shit have it. Smarter than everyone? Who the fuck is he kidding? No, no. I won’t sink to his level this time_. Kyle calmed himself down and tried to appeal to Mrs. Garrison’s selfishness. “Doesn’t anyone else think it’s a little bit strange that Cartman wants everyone to see his underwear so bad?” Kyle saw the unmistakable gleam of scheme in Cartman’s eyes. _He’s definitely got something up his sleeve. Or down his pants… Sick._

When Mrs. Garrison seemed to be agreeing with Kyle, Cartman refused to give her the chance. He marched to the center of the classroom, making sure Butters and Kyle would have a perfect view, spun around and dropped his pants. There was dead silence for a few moments as the glittery hot pink strap embedded in Cartman’s flesh burned itself into the memory of everyone in the room. Suddenly, everyone reacted at once. Wendy covered her eyes. Tweek convulsed violently. Token threw up a little in his mouth. Cartman grinned like the Cheshire Cat. _Yes. It is beginning to have an effect._

“Eric!” shrieked Mrs. Garrison. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

Cartman looked at his prime targets. Kyle was sitting motionless with a bizarre expression on his face, looking as if he had frozen in time while gearing up to sneeze. As for Butters, he was leaning forward onto his desk, tilting his head one way, then the other. He had a hint of a smile, but like Kyle, was transfixed. _The time of reckoning has come._ “Butters, tell everybody about your uncle tickling your butt!” There was another wave of surprise. Wendy put her head down on the desk and covered her ears. Tweek fell out of his chair. Token ran to the trash can and brought up his breakfast.

“Uh, I don’t think I wanna…” Butters began, but something about the sight of that bare skin framed in sparkly pink made him change course. “Well, I was visiting my uncle Bud and I needed my…”

Mrs. Garrison grabbed Cartman’s arm, turning the boy sideways so that the thong and its territory were hidden from the students. Butters fell silent. _Why would I tell that story again? That’s just asking for a whooping._

Filled with rage and disgust, Mrs. Garrison scolded, “This is outrageously inappropriate!”

“I know!” Cartman shouted as Mrs. Garrison dragged him towards the chalkboard. “You checked everyone’s underwear but mine, and now you won’t let Butters tell his story-y-y!” The whining that worked like a charm on his mother was not working here.

When it became clear that Cartman was hung up on some injustice that only he could dream up, Mrs. Garrison sighed a desperate “What am I going to do with you?”

“Make him pull up his pants, maybe,” suggested Kyle.

“Jew-boy’s jealous!” Cartman taunted. He turned, placed his hands on his knees, and gave Kyle an obscene rear view.

(Woo hoo!) hooted Kenny, who was happy to get everyone's focus off of Butters. Most of all, he enjoyed Kyle's disturbed reaction to seeing a side of Cartman he never wanted to see.

Bill and Fosse had been giggling to each other since the beginning of the underpants inquisition, but they were much louder now. “He got on pink underwear.”

“Heh heh, that’s gay.”

“Yeah, gay.”

Mrs. Garrison looked at Cartman, who was again talking to Butters. Cartman’s patience was running out. “Come on, Butters!” He sat all over himself and all over Butters’ desk.

In response, replied with a meek, “M-m-my unc-cle opened the d-door…” He covered his mouth. _It’s like my body’s havin’ a big ol’ fight. I don’t wanna tell that story, but when Eric asks, I feel like I hafta._

Kenny and Kyle got in between. Kyle tried to shove Cartman off Butters’ desk, and Kenny snapped his fingers in front of Butters’ face to get his attention. The boy kept staring at Cartman, or rather, staring at Cartman’s ass. (Oh shit.) Kenny turned Butters and shook him, trying to snap him out of the trance.

Bill pointed at Stan, who was stroking Wendy’s hair and promising to tell her when it was safe to look again. “Ha, Stan loves Wendy.”

“Stan’s so gay.”

 _There they all go, falling through the cracks._ Knowing that she was losing her students, Mrs. Garrison shouted, “Everybody sit down and shut up!” Out of surprise more than obedience, everybody sat down and shut up. Even Cartman, who just sat down on the floor where Kyle had knocked him. “That does it. Eric, you are going to stand up here by the board as an example of inappropriate school attire.” The half-naked boy picked himself up and stood by the board, none too disappointed by his punishment. A few snickers made their way around the room, and Mrs. Garrison added, “And anyone else who disrupts my class can join him!” There was not a peep from the seated students until lunchtime.

Those hours flew by for Kenny. Usually, time at school went quickly because he amused himself with a girlie mag stuffed inside his textbook, and because he was never in any rush to go home. Today, his thoughts kept returning to Butters. Not that he preferred the boy to his centerfolds, of course. _Man, I just can’t let this go. Why am I so hung up about this kid?_ Kenny’s own home life was nothing to brag about, but at least when he was punished, it was because he deserved it. In the Stotch home, anything was fair game for grounding. Cartman was up at the front of the room, with a shallowly penitent face until Mrs. Garrison’s back was turned. Never giving up on winning a bet, Cartman shimmied like the girls in the videos Kenny borrowed from his dad’s private collection. _Why does everyone give Butters shit all the time? I guess if I don’t watch out for him, no one else will. If I stand by while that man hurts Butters again, I can’t call myself a superhero._

The hours were also going by rapidly for Butters. _Lunchtime already? I bet Uncle Bud is home with Mom and Dad right now._


	10. Piggyback Ride

Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Butters, Craig, and Clyde took their lunch trays to their table, but Butters didn't feel much like mini corn dogs and potato wedges. _I know I'm hungry, but my tummy is in one big knot._ After staring at his tray for a few minutes, he got up from the table to go to the bathroom.

"Aren't you going to eat your lunch?" Stan asked.

Craig was, as usual, unmoved. "After this morning, I didn't feel much like eating, either."

"I just don't feel so good, fellas." He noticed Kenny, whose plate was already empty. "Kenny, you can have some of my corn dogs if you want."

Kenny looked at Butters' full plate, then back at Butters. (Thanks, dude.) He didn't want to let on just how hungry he was, but this was his first real meal since lunch the day before. A can and a half of beer did not count as a meal. He nibbled at the corn dogs, thinking, _Life can be a bitch when you're the sissy or the poor kid. We gotta stick together._

Turning a corner to get to the bathroom, Butters spotted Cartman near the drinking fountain, his lower half still mostly bare. "Hey Butters. Don't you feel like giving me a little somethin'-somethin'?" He motioned with one hand as if he were taking out a wad of money.

Butters beamed. "Well, sure, Eric!" He wrapped his arms around as much of Cartman as he could and rested his head on the larger boy's shoulder. A few nearby kids stopped in their tracks to stare at the two boys.

"That's not what I meant! Get the hell off." Cartman pried Butters from his coat. "I meant, would you like to take your money and put it here?" He pointed at the strap buried in his hip. Imitating his mother with some of her 'gentleman callers', Cartman faced the wall, braced himself with his hands, and spread his thick legs.

Cartman's posture spoke to Butters more clearly than words. "Uh-huh." _His butt is all fluffy like whipped cream._ "But, I already bought my lunch, and all I got left is some nickels and some pennies and maybe a dime." Butters dug into his pocket and came up with an assortment of coins.

Cartman rolled his eyes. "Why do you have to suck so hard? Fine, just slide them in." He nudged his hip towards Butters.

"Hmm." Carefully, one by one, Butters inserted the coins. _It's like one of those rides at the grocery store. Maybe when I'm done, Eric will give me a piggyback ride._ The idea of wrapping his arms around Cartman's neck and being carried away with him made Butters shiver with delight. With the beginnings of a coin collection inside the strap, Butters announced, "There ya go! That's all."

"Not much, but it's a start. Now we gotta go find Kahl."

"Wh-what for?"

Cartman walked backwards so he could face Butters, and explained in one breath: "Because I need you to tell Kahl that you screwed your uncle so that I'll win the bet and he'll have to fuck his uncle and I can put it on the Internet so everyone will laugh at him so much that he'll get a brain tumor—" Cartman took a much needed breath. "—and di-i-ie!"

The explanation was lost on Butters, who was following only the flash of rhinestones. _Gee, I was lookin' forward to that ride. Maybe if I give him a little more..._ Neither boy noticed Principal Victoria until Cartman backed into her. He looked up and froze.

She tried to look at him without looking at _all_ of him. "There you are, Eric. You will be spending your lunch and recess time in my office."

"What?" Cartman spat as she took him by the hand and led him away.

"Aww, please, Principal Victoria, let 'im stay," pleaded Butters. "I didn't get to ride him yet." His innocence again let him say things that would have gotten him grounded for sure if his parents were in earshot.

"Uffdah!" she gasped, simultaneously trying to get a more solid grip on Cartman, who was twisting his hand to free himself. "So this is what Mrs. Garrison was talking about." She noticed the coins squeezed in the strap. "This is the last thing the Stotch boy needs."

As they walked down the hall, Cartman continued his loud, wiggly protest. "This is bullcrap! Rrrgh… Garrison perved on us, everyone in class saw me already… nnngh… I've only got 48 cents, and no uncle story!"

Butters watched Cartman until Principal Victoria shut the door behind them. With Cartman out of view, Butters' attention returned to the clenching in his stomach, and he scooted to the bathroom.

In the cafeteria, Kenny was beginning to wonder what had become of Butters, and how much of Butters' lunch it was acceptable to eat. Before he could ask either question, Clyde seemed to become aware of the empty seat. "Is he coming back?"

Stan and Kyle looked at the seat, around the cafeteria, then at Clyde. "I dunno, dude," Stan said with a shrug. "He said he was going to the bathroom."

"That was forever ago," Kyle answered.

Images of Butters being coerced by his uncle into a creepy van from the early 1980s flashed through Kenny's mind. _I gotta look for him._ Kenny stood. (I gotta… take a shit,) he announced before he left the table.

"If Butters has been in the bathroom all this time, you should probably hold it," Craig warned, but Kenny ignored him. By now, Kenny was picturing Butters' uncle promising candy in the back of the 1980s van. Kenny kept his cool until he was around the corner and out of his friends' sight. He shot down the hall to the bathroom and burst through the blue door.

Finding Butters was that easy. The boy was standing at the urinal, pants around his ankles, shirt pulled up to his chest. He took no notice of Kenny and appeared to be in his own world, giving his wiener a pep talk. "Aww, you can do it. I know you got it in you." There was silence for a second, then the sound of Butters relieving himself. "That's right, little man. Let it all out."

Kenny didn't dare move. He was glad he'd found Butters, but the sight of the boy standing there so exposed and so naïve to everything going on around him was disturbing in a new way. Kenny felt like running away, but he didn't want to startle Butters, either. _Oh, Butters. Pissing like that is just asking for it. Well, not 'asking for it', but it's gonna get him in more trouble.  
_

Kenny was still frozen when Butters turned his eyes to the mirror and spotted him. "Hi, Kenny!"

(Hey. You know, you…) Much as Kenny wanted to suggest that Butters adopt a different, more covered up bathroom behavior, he couldn't bring himself to say it. (…You were cool to let me have some of your corn dogs.)

"No problem!" said Butters, who finished and pulled his pants up. Kenny pretended not to notice the training pants patterned with Hello Kitty mid-skip. But he did notice them, adding to the horror at what a grown man had done to him. Butters was washing his hands now, and again looked at Kenny in the mirror. It was Butters' turn to sound concerned. "What's wrong? You look like you seen a ghost."

(No. Nothing.) Kenny pulled his hood tight. _Ugh. I sound like a tool. Why can I only sound cool when I'm playing superheroes?_ (I just wanted to see how you were doing, after the whole thing with Garrison and Cartman.)

Butters thought about this as he dried his hands. "Well, I didn't like it when Mrs. Garrison made me p-pull my pants down in front of everybody. But you gotta look on the bright side. There's always something crazy happening around here, and pretty soon nobody will even remember."

At first, Kenny was glad that Butters was not letting the intrusion bother him. _Wait. Maybe it_ _ **should**_ _bother him. I don't want him feeling bad, but adults will keep hurting him over and over._ Kenny took a deep breath. (But Mrs. Garrison's our teacher. That's messed up!)

"She musta had a good reason."

(There's _no_ good reason to pants a kid in front of the class!)

"But I had it comin', 'cos I have a dirty mouth."

(You have a dirty mouth? That fucking bitch put her hands on you, and you have a dirty mouth?) Butters covered his mouth with his hands, as if that would stop Kenny's stream of obscenities.

"Kenny, you shouldn't say stuff like that."

(Somebody needs to. What matters most is knowing that it wasn't your fault.)

Butters opened his eyes wide. "You sound just like this king I met last night."

(Uh… this 'king' didn't touch you anywhere, did he?)

"No way! I thought he was scary at first, but not when I got to know him."

(And are you sure this wasn't a dream?)

"It wasn't no dream. He came and sat on my window. His name was King Mysterion."

( _King_ Mysterion?)

"Yeah. I was real worried about my uncle coming to visit, but now I feel alright. It's nice to have a king looking out for you to make sure nothin' bad happens." The bell rang. Lunch period was over. "We better get goin'. I wanna ask Eric when he's gonna give me my piggyback ride." Butters skipped back to class, just as merrily as Hello Kitty herself.

(What just happened? And since when does that fat pig give out piggyback rides?) Kenny wondered. (Well, if "King" Mysterion helps Butters stand up for himself, I can live with that.) He pushed the bathroom door open and joined the kids making their way back to class.


	11. Crackheads

In the afternoon, Mrs. Garrison's classroom was every teacher's dream. The children quietly did their assigned reading of Greek myths, made a timeline on the life and career of Rock Hudson, and even made a class list of changes in the body during puberty without so much as a snicker. Everyone in the room was on his or her best behavior. Anything to avoid daily repeats of the underwear inquisition.

Cartman was not there. He had eaten his lunch in Principal Victoria's office, but not before giving her a full rear view, hoping to make her hand over her jelly doughnut and take him back to the cafeteria. He was successful only in earning a visit to Mr. Mackey, who was trying his best to make sense of Cartman's behavior.

"I'm trying my best to make sense of your behavior, m'kay. This is the third time you've had to see me this week."

"No, it's the second time."

"I had to see you yesterday for attempting to drown Kyle Broflovski, and on Monday for causing Kelly Nelson to vomit in the hallway."

Cartman crossed his arms and scowled. "That doesn't count. You can't prove I did that."

"My point is, Eric, we are concerned about your behavior, and we need to get to the bottom of it, m'kay." Mr. Mackey studied Cartman, who still bristled with defiance. The sight of Cartman's exposed belly and legs made the counselor uncomfortable. When seated, Cartman looked as if he was wearing nothing below the waist. "Eric, where are your pants?"

"How the hell should I know? Garrison wanted to see me naked so bad, I bet she's gonna keep them."

"Well, according to Mrs. Garrison, you exposed yourself to the class, m'kay. Exposing yourself, that's bad. We can't have you distracting other students."

"That's fine! The only person who needs to see my underwear is Butters!" In his frequent visits to the office, Cartman always had a bizarre rationale ready. This was no exception.

Mr. Mackey adjusted his glasses. "Why does Butters need to see it?"

"If you get off my ass and let me show him, you'll find out." Cartman had already come tantalizingly close to getting Butters to tell the story for all, but especially Kyle, to hear. _I will get that story._

"I'm afraid you can't do that, m'kay. Your clothing choice is against school policy. You're going to be on in-school suspension until dismissal."

In frustration, Cartman's arms and legs flailed. Unwilling, and perhaps unable, to control himself any longer, he wailed, "If I don't get Butters to tell that story now, Kahl is going to find some Jew loophole to get out of doing the chocolate cha-cha with his uncle."

Puzzled, Mr. Mackey employed one of the most useful tricks of the trade he had picked up while working towards his online degree. "I see. Tell me more about that, m'kay."

By the end of the day, Kyle finished his multiplication problems and looked at the clock to see that there were only fifteen more minutes before the weekend started. _Cool. It's a nice change to just learn stuff without Cartman interrupting all the time._ A knock on the door caught everyone's attention. Immediately, Kyle was beating himself up. _Dammit. I jinxed it._

"Come in," said Mrs. Garrison, opening the door. Mr. Mackey stood at the door with Cartman in tow. She saw the glazed look on Mr. Mackey's face. "What's the matter?"

In a low voice, Mr. Mackey informed Mrs. Garrison, "Eric is a deeply troubled boy."

"What else is new?" She watched Cartman approaching Butters, and the two began having some sort of negotiation.

"Well, he seems to have an obsession with males seeing his buttocks. I think it stems from lack of a male role model in his life, m'kay." The whole class and both teachers watched blankly as Butters climbed onto his chair, wrapped his arms around Cartman's neck and his legs around Cartman's sides.

Again, Mrs. Garrison snapped, "What else is new?" A confused Cartman tried to shake Butters off, but Butters clung tightly and appeared to be enjoying the ride. Other students began to laugh.

Bill pointed at the entangled boys. "That looks so gay."

"Ha, they're gay," answered Fosse.

Mrs. Garrison was not about to lose the peaceful classroom she had cultivated during the day. "Eric and Butters! Take your seats!" Butters let go of Cartman's neck, and slid down into his chair again. Cartman stayed standing, his anger rising to a boil at having been thwarted again.

"I believe Eric here has something to say to all of you, m'kay." Before Cartman could turn his head to give Mr. Mackey a death glare, the counselor had slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

"Yes," Mrs. Garrison agreed. "You owe all of us an apology for your repulsive choice of underwear." When Cartman balked and pouted, Mrs. Garrison brandished a ruler from her desk. "Now, Eric!"

"I'm sorry I broke school policy and flashed my hot ass at other people." Cartman wasn't so much speaking as sighing. He was fully prepared for the anger still showing all over Mrs. Garrison's face. He steeled himself for a blowout.

"I've had it up to here with people like you!" The top of her bald head went pink.

Ready for everyone to put the events of the day behind them – and most importantly, for Cartman to cover up – Kyle stood. With his head still turned slightly so he wouldn't risk seeing Cartman, he announced, "You know, I've learned something today. If something is supposed to be hidden from everybody, it should stay that way. You don't go around asking people about their personal religious or political views just to see if they'll offend you. And you shouldn't have to ask about underwear either, because if you can't see them, what difference does it make?"

Mrs. Garrison was having none of it. "Oh, wouldn't that be all peachy keen jelly beans. But let me tell you something, Kyle. This is only the beginning."

Kyle sank back into his seat. "What do you mean?" Even Cartman, who was inching his way closer to Butters, wanted to hear what was beginning.

"Thongs do something to your brain. You see a little skin, and then you want more. No, you _have_ to have more." The students could see that Mrs. Garrison was passionate about what she was saying, which was more than could be said for most of her lessons. Passion wasn't enough to give the subject clarity. Only Kenny, who had discovered the joy of nights in with a girlie mag and some Vaseline, or even tagging along with his father to the Peppermint Hippo strip club, could digest the information. The others had Cartman to thank for introducing them to thongs, and couldn't imagine needing to see more skin. "It starts with some guy saying, 'Oh, it won't happen to me. She's wearing a tanga. It's only a little bit of crack.' Then he's not interested unless it's a bikini. Pretty soon, he won't pay attention to anything or anyone unless they're wearing a two-way, or a g-string, or for the love of God… a c-string." Mrs. Garrison cringed. The kids were more confused than ever, but it sounded monstrous.

Poor Butters had been tapping his knuckles nervously as Cartman backed towards his desk. Cartman turned his head towards Butters and whispered, "Kyle's totally having a conscience attack. Tell him what you and your uncle did."

"Aaaaaah!" Butters screamed. He jumped out of his seat and over the top of his desk, trying to avoid coming too close to Cartman. The little boy's foot got caught, and he fell headfirst onto the linoleum. Landing on the floor knocked the wind out of him, and he was silent for a second before rising to his feet and dashing out the door, screaming all the way.

"This is why there are no good men left. They don't want to take their time to get to know a proper lady. A man would rather see some attention-whore overcompensate and jiggle her junk at the club. It's some kind of addiction."

Cartman was inwardly cursing Butters for running out when there was a perfect forum for him to reveal the deeply personal story, until he heard the word "addiction", and started to laugh. "They're crack addicts! Addicted… to crack!" Unable to keep himself upright, he collapsed onto the cool tiles. The students in the front row got a comprehensive view of Cartman's ass, sticking up in the air. A few of them ran out the door after Butters; the others were traumatized into stillness.

Gasping for air, Cartman rolled over, continuing to laugh. He saw his teacher's enraged face looming over him, which only caused him to laugh harder. "Mrs. Garrison… Mrs. Garrison… a crack pipe!" He hadn't reached his primary objective, but he wanted to squeeze a little fun out of the afternoon.

The bell rang. The kids usually vaulted out of their seats and made a break for the neighborhood, but today the ones who remained crept out. They responded as if a horrible accident had taken place in the front of the classroom. On the one hand, they were sickened by what had happened, but on the other hand, were morbidly curious to see what would happen to the people involved. Maybe something painful.


	12. Over-Exposure

Last of all, Cartman emerged from the building. He never figured out what had become of his pants. _Like hell I'm asking that banshee-male. Not my fault she's got sand in her fake vagina._ The crisp air bit into his legs. He was not ready to give up on getting that confession out of Butters, but the plan would have to wait until after he had a chance to go home and warm up. It was a hot chocolate kind of day.

The streets were quiet, but Cartman received several stares and one double-take from people he passed as he walked home. When he turned down his street, he could see several of the boys building snow forts in Stan's front yard. The promise of hot chocolate would have stopped him from bothering them, but he caught Clyde gawking at him before saying something to Jimmy. "Those dickholes are talking about me!"concluded Cartman, appalled. The chill in his lower body was immediately forgotten. Priorities. Jimmy and Clyde continued working on their snow cannon, not stopping until they heard heavy footsteps approaching. "Ay!"

The boys turned to see Cartman's stony glare in stark contrast to the gaudy pink triangle barely concealing him down below. The sight gave Jimmy mental whiplash, and a slight snicker escaped. "Wha-wh-wh-what's up, Eric?"

"I don't know. Apparently Clyde has something to say." Cartman waited for Clyde to beg for forgiveness.

The boy looked at Jimmy, then back at Cartman. "What?"

Not getting answers, Cartman kicked his way through the boys' snow cannon, demolishing it. "If you wanna talk shit, you can say it to my fucking face!"

Other boys dropped what they were doing and gathered to see what was happening. Clyde surveyed the damage to his work and asked, "What did I do?"

"Quit playing dumb. I saw you looking at me, all like: 'Whoa, Jimmy. That Eric Cartman got caught wearing banned underwear and got dry humped by Butters. What a douche!'" Cartman imitated Clyde's voice and leaned in close to Jimmy for dramatic emphasis.

Clyde, still at a loss, tried to put the matter to rest. "When I saw you, all I said was you had to be really cold."

"See, Cartman, he wasn't talking shit about you." Stan tried to smooth things over, knowing full well that Cartman let no insult, not even an imaginary one, go unpunished. "Why don't you go put some pants on, and then you can play snow wars with us if you want." Nearby, Kyle and a few other boys made faces of disapproval, but kept their mouths shut.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The boy's exposed legs were pink from the cold, but his face was red hot. Even a simple suggestion made his blood pressure skyrocket when he was in this mood. "Are you scared? Scared that Garrison was right?"

"No!" shouted several of the boys. Kenny was silent. He knew otherwise.

"Just get lost," droned Craig.

Cartman took a step towards the fort Stan had built with Kenny and Kyle. Stan still wanted to reason with the unreasonable. "What we mean is, Mrs. Garrison sometimes…"

(Garrison is right.) Kenny interrupted. (The thong was taking control of Butters. He couldn't hold back from giving Cartman his money. That's why our dads spend so much money at titty bars. At least, mine does.)

Proudly, Cartman asserted, "You see? You guys better be kewl to me."

"Wait a minute," Token wondered. "If thongs turn people into drooling morons who throw away all their money, why was only Butters affected?"

(Because it has to be… oh.) Kenny stopped himself. _Because it has to be someone you would bang. Jesus, Butters._

"It h-has to be what? S-s-spit it out ah… spit it out eh… s-spit it out aaalready!"

Kenny's brain raced to make something up. (Because it has to be… aimed at you. It's like a heat-seeking missile.)

The boys were quiet. Clyde couldn't hold his questions in any longer. "I'm still confused. Is it like crack or is it like a missile?"

"I know what's going on here." Kyle pointed an accusing finger at Cartman. "You were trying to trick Butters into telling us some sick story that _you_ made up. Well, you can forget it because nobody wants to see that!"

"You don't want me to put my pants on, do you, Kahl?" He feigned empathy, but having so little experience with those feelings, his acting was poor. "I know how hard it is for the skinflint Jew to part with his money, so I'll let you do something else for me. It involves you, your uncle, and a video camera…"

Kyle was constantly shifting to keep Cartman out of his line of sight, but the larger boy kept chasing Kyle's attention, kept rambling about his demands. Now, Kyle spoke, his moral crisis turning on its head. He marched up to Cartman. "I am sick and tired of you forcing yourself on everyone! You deserve a kick in _your_ crack pipe."

Hearing the threat emboldened Cartman. Adrenaline surged through him, filling him with a cocktail of anger and excitement. "Go ahead, Kahl. You must be dying to smoke some of this crack." He backed into Kyle and brushed his bare skin against Kyle's crotch.

"Get off me, fatass!" Without hesitation, Kyle pushed Cartman as hard as he could, knocking him face first into the heaps of snow. The disgusted boy followed up on his promise and kicked Cartman squarely in the rear.

On the ground, Cartman pushed himself onto his hands and knees, spitting. "I'm not fat; I'm big-boned!" Cartman intended to sound matter-of-fact, but he was losing control, and his voice spiraled off into a whine. "And even if I was fat – which I'm not – I could get a perfect six-pack, and Clyde here would still be a human septic tank."

When Mr. Mackey had made an announcement about Clyde's colostomy over the PA system, Clyde had visions of himself being the next Cory Duran, mocked into desperate suicide. It hadn't turned out that way, not for this likeable boy. Having best friends like Craig and Token didn't hurt either. The two boys stood close by. "You're unbelievable, asshole," Craig hissed without moving, except for raising his middle finger. His steely eyes were fixed on Cartman.

Feeling more confident, Clyde commented, "You couldn't get a six-pack. And you'd still be a closet case, anyway."

"Shut your goddamn mouth, shitbag!" Cartman screamed, leaning into Clyde's face and poking him in the side. Instinctively, Clyde's hands shot up to cover his pouch, just in case Cartman tried anything.

Before Cartman's sadistic streak could reveal itself, Token leapt in between and socked him. "Put one fat finger on him again and those nasty panties will be so far up your ass you'll get cut in fucking half!" Cartman clutched his face and staggered backwards before falling to his knees.

"I think it's happening already," Craig observed, pointing out how deeply the waistband was embedded into Cartman's sides. As the chubby boy inventoried his face for injuries, Craig reached out and grabbed a tight fistful of the flesh that spilled over. The other boys reacted with shouts of laughter and disgust.

"Oww!" Cartman wailed, smacking uselessly at Craig's hand. "You guys are so jealous! I can wear what I want, and I look good doing it."

The boys' laughter intensified. "I think his ass is hungry."

"Yeah, it's eating those poor underwear!"

(You took all the sexy out of those, man.)

"Damn straight, Kinny! I took more sexy out of them than any of you could!" To prove it, Cartman struck poses to show off his physique. But he convinced no one, not even himself.

Kyle wasn't sure whether Cartman was twisting the words into compliments to protect himself, or whether he truly believed it was meant as flattery. "'Damn straight?' You look damn gay!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"For someone who isn't gay, you put a whole lot of stuff in your ass!" Kyle was doing the math. "Anal probe, cigarettes, food, his finger…"

(And Kyle's finger…) Kenny added, smirking at the memory.

"Gross, dude!" Kyle shuddered. "He really wanted me to."

"And now, th-this. Tell me Eric, do you want Butters to p-p-push in your stool for you, very much?"

"Shut up!" Tears burned in Cartman's eyes. This was not part of his plan. Not at all. "I can't help it if I look hot wearing a thong. I don't like putting things in my ass, I don't, I don't!" He shook his fists, looking defeated.

"Livin' a lie, Timmy!"

Kyle threw his arms up in the air. "Why are you being such a pussy, Cartman? You couldn't have thought this was a good idea." _The way he's denying it, I bet he'll grow up just like Garrison. Only fatter._

"Yeah, you said worse stuff about Butters yesterday," Stan chided. Stan would have been lying if he said he didn't find it amusing to see Cartman getting ripped on this time. Craig, Token, Jimmy, and Kyle pummeled Cartman with the barrage of snowballs intended for their game. Clyde, Tweek, and Timmy watched, eyes wide. But Stan studied the other boy's face and saw just how hard Cartman was trying to keep himself together. The boy's lip was in his mouth. He was trembling all over now; whether it was from cold or embarrassment, Stan couldn't be sure. _This is going too far. He's still my friend, kind of._ Stan put a hand on Kyle's shoulder, trying to pull him back from Cartman, back to his senses. "Come on. I think he gets the message."

"Oh no." Kyle insisted, "This happens all the time. He does something retarded, we call him on it, and then the second he acts upset, you go, 'That's enough. He gets it.' If he gets it, then why does he keep screwing with people?"

(Yeah. And Butters has enough problems without that fat fuck making things worse.) Kenny had lost track of time, but took notice of the darkening sky. _Butters! I better make sure he's okay._ (Sorry guys, I gotta go home.)

"Right now?" asked Kyle.

(Yeah. I need to shit again. See ya!) He ran across the street without waiting for the other boys to return his goodbye.

Stan shook his head. "Wow, Kenny's got some major diarrhea today." A wail broke through the chatter. Stan and Kyle looked to see Cartman lying in a fetal position, snowball residue sticking to his coat and hat. He was whimpering; his eyes were squeezed shut. "What happened?" Stan asked the boys gathered around Cartman's quivering form.

"We asked Eric if his vagina and boobs were getting cold, and he told us to suck his balls," Clyde began. "So Craig kicked him."

Candid as ever, Craig concluded, "I guess he has balls after all."

"I told you," groaned Cartman, "it's _really_ cold out!" Stan cast a concerned eye over Cartman, especially the redness in his legs. He reached to help Cartman up, but Cartman waved his arms to protect himself. "Don't fucking touch me!" For a second, Cartman's eyes locked with Stan's. The boy on the ground tried to hide the tears on his cheeks.

"Cartman, you need to go home before you freeze," warned Stan, trying to be helpful.

Jimmy commented, "He c-c-c-can't freeze. His blubber keeps him warm so he can show off his 'whale tail'."

Wobbling to his feet, Cartman left as quickly as he could, favoring his tender places. He didn't look back. They might have still been laughing; he couldn't tell if it was laughter from before ringing in his ears. It wasn't far to the house where he counted on his mother to be waiting, ready to scoop him up and make it all better. But patience was not one of Cartman's strengths. So they would hear him cry. What more could they do?


	13. Like Mother, Like Son

Once inside his home, the door shut securely behind him, Cartman became acutely aware of how cold he was. His body wasn't working properly; his shaking legs barely supported him. He dragged himself up the stairs to his room and pulled on a pair of pants. With his shoes still on, he collapsed into his bed, cocooned himself in the blanket, and wrapped his arms tightly around his stuffed frog.

Hot chocolate was the only cure. "Mahm," Cartman called out, weakly. His mother did not come running to his side, so he tried a little louder. "Maaahm." Still no answer. "Maaaahm! I need you, goddammit!" Nothing. Fresh tears sprang to the boy's eyes. He wanted warm arms around him and hot chocolate in his belly. "Why is this happening to me, Clyde Frog?" he sobbed, giving the doll a squeeze. "Butters was the one with his uncle licking his poop chute, but those black assholes think _I'm_ gay!" The half of his mouth next to Clyde Frog's face whimpered, "'Forget about it, Eric. Those guys know you're super kewl.'" Much as he loved Clyde Frog, Cartman wished he could hear words like that from someone else. One of the guys.

The pain in his groin was dulling away, but he placed a protective hand there. The day before, his hand happily explored. Now he felt ashamed. _I liked touching my dick. Does that make me a fag? I don't like things in my ass. Except maybe that one time I got to fart on Kahl and he put his finger in there… but that was different._ That memory never failed to make him smile just a little, to make his mind relax. _This thong feels pretty good. I mean, looks good. I mean..._ He snuggled his face against Clyde Frog's as sleep overtook him.

The sky had gone completely dark before Ms. Cartman returned home. She spotted the damp footprints leading upstairs. "I hope Eric isn't too out of sorts because I wasn't here when he got home. He can be so temperamental sometimes." She put away the groceries she had picked up on the way home, including a case of doughnuts in a variety of shapes, sizes, and flavors. On days when she was called away for unexpected work, she usually came home with some chocolate frosted sympathy. Before going upstairs to check on her son, she remembered put her tip money into her purse. Several rumpled bills were tucked into the strap of her blue satin thong. _At least their wallets were well-endowed_ , she thought, pleased with her take for the evening.

Upstairs, she knocked on her little boy's door. Hearing nothing, she opened the door and saw him deeply sleeping. "My little sweet pea." She wondered at him, not bothered in the least by the covers wound tightly around him or the drool seeping out one corner of his mouth. _I hate to disturb him, but I wouldn't want him to miss his din-din. And I wonder how things went with his little boyfriend today?_ Gently, she slid down the covers and began to rub his shoulder.

The sensation caused Eric to awaken with a start. "No!" He thrashed, believing it was children's hands throwing him to the ground.

"Eric, shhh, it's alright," his mother cooed in his ear until he stilled. "Did you have a visit from the boogie man during nap-times?"

He sat up, looking cross. "No, no. I just came home and went to bed after having such a great day at skewl."

Ms. Cartman suspected that all was not well in the world of Eric, but she remained optimistic. "Did you? What happened with your special little friend today?"

That sore topic. "Well, Butters didn't say what I wanted him to, I got sent to the principal's office for no reason, and all the guys called me a fag. Does that sound like a great day to you?"

"Oh, Poopsie-kins." She ran a hand through his hair, half expecting him to swat her away. He did not. "Those boys need more time to mature before they can understand. And maybe Butters would open up more if you two had some time alone." She continued stroking him as he leaned against her.

Shame from the other boys getting the best of him, the only kind of shame he had ever experienced, still read on his face. From inside him, a lust for revenge began to build, but he continued to wear his piteous mask. He had worn it countless times to conceal his slow burning rage long enough to take down his tormentors. He looked past his mother and into the mirror, where he could see himself, as sweet as candy-coated chili. _Bingo. I should get an award for this face._ When his eyes landed on his Wellington Bear video camera, he was already forming a new incarnation of his plan. "Mahm, could you take me to Butters's' house? I was thinking maybe I should talk to him, so he knows there are no hard feelings."

Ms. Cartman pulled Eric in close. "Of course, hon. But I'm sure he'll understand if you still have some hard feelings for him. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you." She couldn't stand to see him disappointed. "Could I interest you in some waffle s'mores before we go?"

"Uh-huh. And hot chocolate, too?"

"And hot chocolate, too."

With his belly full, Cartman could concentrate on settling the score with Butters. Into his backpack, he stuffed everything he might need to stay the night with Butters: pyjamas, toothbrush, Snacky Cakes, video camera, night vision lens, zip ties, duct tape, Nyquil, tazer, and a few other odds and ends that happened to strike his fancy. "Butters doesn't want to talk? Now he won't have to. Kahl and the guys are going to see for themselves." He checked himself in the mirror once more, perfecting his innocent face before going downstairs. By now, he was practically salivating over exacting revenge and finally having his fun.

Even though Butters didn't always serve Cartman's purpose as planned, he had his bouts of usefulness. One handy trait was that Butters had a guileless expression ripe to be copied. Another of Butters' redeeming qualities was his pliability. No matter how many times he was grounded, he continued to be an affectionate son. And no matter what illicit activities Cartman lured him into, Butters was always open to new and more lurid misadventures. "Sex tape with his uncle tonight, tomorrow, who knows?" He looked himself up and down, letting his imagination go to work. "Washing my balls?" As he grabbed his backpack and turned to leave, something shiny caught his eye. A sparkly strap was visible on one of his hips; his pants were trapped under a layer of fat on his side. "Not yet, gorgeous," Cartman cooed, tucking the thong into his pants. "You'll have your chance to shine." Remembering to display his best impression of that Butters Stotch smile, he came downstairs, where his mother was waiting. Ideations of the wild acts he might capture on film – many of them ones he had accidentally witnessed his mother performing with her visiting gentleman friends – danced through his head as he buckled himself into the car next to her.

They pulled into the Stotches' driveway next to a black SUV that was not normally parked there. While Ms. Cartman gave him a mushy send-off, something about a raw genius zones, he dared to hope that his suspicion was correct. _That's not his parents' car. Looks like it's just Butters and his uncle. And Eric makes three. Maybe if they think they're alone, they'll do something really sick and twisted._

"Have a nice time, Snookums," Ms. Cartman finished, giving her son Eskimo kisses before he slid out onto the driveway. He approached the door and raised his closed fist as if to knock, but only shook his arm silently until his mother's car turned onto the street and he was cloaked in darkness. Once hidden from sight, he padded around to the back of the house and reached into his coat pocket where he had hidden the laser pen from his Mission Impossible playset.


	14. Test Tickles

Years of sneaking into others’ houses had morphed Cartman into a master of breaking and entering. From Butters’ room, he could hear the TV on, but the canned laughter and trite dialogue of some sitcom were the only sounds in the house. Cartman crept towards the noise, and just barely peeked around the banister into the living room below. Butters was on the floor playing. Behind him, a man in khakis and a Dodgers jersey sat on the couch with a beer in his hand. It was Uncle Bud alright, replacing the hazy image from Cartman’s memory with a crystal clear one. That made it easier to imagine Butters being preyed upon in lurid detail.

Commercials began, and Bud shifted his weight. _He’s making his move._ _I’ll start with a high angle shot, and I can sneak in some close-ups when they’re really going at it._ Cartman fumbled through his backpack for his video camera. _Here it comes. Here it comes... He’s looking at Butters’ ass! No, he’s watching Charlie Sheen being a douchebag._ He watched the lack of action through the camera screen. Bud put his feet on the coffee table, and Butters kept playing. Seconds ticked by on the counter, then minutes. Cartman stewed. _Come on._ His arms started to droop. He waited. And waited. Stretched himself out on the floor. And waited.

One show ended and another one started. Bored, Cartman turned the camera on himself and whispered, “This is seriously weak. Butters is just sitting there with that dumbass smile, like, ‘Not tonight. I’m gonna be a cock-tease right now.’” He was so engrossed with himself on video that he almost failed to notice that Butters had picked up his toys and was coming up the stairs. “Aw, crap!” He ran to the safety of Butters’ closet and tried to quiet his panting.

Blissfully unaware of his new visitor, Butters hummed a sleepy tune to wind down for bed. The night before, he had locked the bathroom door and watched it while brushing his teeth, combing his hair, taking his medicine. Tonight, the door was barely closed. _I thought Uncle Bud was gonna be awful sore at me. But he gave me ice cream and let me stay up until 9 o’clock. He even said he was sorry for not giving me my medicine like I need it._ Butters had felt better about spending time with his uncle than he had in a long time. The only physical contact between them was a quick, chaste hug at the suggestion of Mrs. Stotch. _I knew Mom and Dad had a reason for punishing me._

The artificial, well-adjusted feel of the Stotch home was making Cartman restless. He pawed through the piles of stuff squirreled away in his friend’s closet, hoping to come across something interesting, or perhaps finally get his hands on that video of himself dressed as Britney Spears and destroy it. He tipped over a box and miniature construction equipment fell out. “Heh heh, an Erector Set. Does he have a dildo set in here, too?”

While Cartman helped himself to a stack of boxes behind the Erector Set, a noise from the hall interrupted his excavation. He held his breath and watched through the slightly open closet door as Uncle Bud came into Butters’ room and made himself at home. Bud was so much at ease that he didn’t hear the click of Cartman hitting the record button. The boy in the closet was not going to miss a thing. Moments later, there was a gurgling of bathwater going down the drain, followed by the bathroom door opening.

Fresh and steamy from his bath, Butters stumbled in, swaddled in a plush robe. When he spotted his uncle sitting on the bed, he stammered, “Oh. Wuh…what are you doin’ in here, Uncle Bud?”

“Just having a look around. Nice digs you got here.” Bud intended to be complimentary, not ironic, but the sugary colors and much of the décor didn’t fit Bud’s idea of a boy’s room. He moved on. “Why don’t you jump into your PJs? We can read a story together. How about…” Bud grabbed a paperback from the nightstand behind him and looked at the cover. “How about _Will God Smite Michael’s Two Daddies_?” He flashed a winning smile at the boy.

Butters was grateful for the offer of quality time and picked up the set of bunny pyjamas lying folded on the dresser. He was also quite happy to dismiss his confession about his uncle as a moment of madness and move on, never mentioning it again, as his parents had made sure he explained during his apology that afternoon. Before he could start getting changed, he noticed his uncle’s eyes still locked on him. He kneaded the terrycloth in his hands, unsure about whether to proceed. “Could you t-t-turn around? My body is a temple.” He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded important in Father Maxi’s sermon.

“Ain’t nobody here but us guys. I’ll get comfy, too.” Bud pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his pants, tossing them aside. He looked very comfortable indeed. Not Butters, who wasn’t any closer to taking off his robe. The boy wanted badly to feel the trust he once had for Bud, but his feelings aligned with Mysterion’s words, not his family’s.

"Hey, I know. Would you like some candy?"

Butters perked up, in spite of already being full of ice cream. _Candy? Maybe it's okay after all._  "I love candy," said Butters, thinking of how seldom his parents offered him any. _If he wanted to do something bad to me, he’d ground me._ Bud reached into his pocket and withdrew a black tube with a picture of strawberries on it. "That sure is some funny looking candy." There was a word written on the side. "Ass-tro-slide. Is that like Astropops?"

"Uh, yeah. Just like them. It tastes like strawberries." Bud squeezed a dab onto his fingertip and held it to Butters' mouth. "Give it a try." When Butters looked at him haltingly, Bud added in a firmer tone, "Go on."

Never wanting to cause a problem, Butters climbed onto the bed and knelt next to his uncle. He parted his lips and licked at the pink goo. He swallowed and made a face. "That doesn't taste like strawberries."

"It's strawberry-like. As in, you'll learn to like it."

Butters wasn't so sure. “Okay, then.” While Butters was distracted by trying to get past the waxy aftertaste, Bud brushed the loose folds of Butters’ robe off the boy’s shoulder, revealing taut young skin and one pink dot of a nipple. The boy tried to shrug the sleeve back onto his shoulder, thinking it had slipped accidentally, but when his uncle whisked the material so that the rest of Butters’ chest was exposed, he knew it was no accident. “Please,” Butters began, trying to channel Mysterion, but unable to give a firm, convincing refusal. “L-let me put on my pyjamas now.” It didn’t sound serious in his meek whisper. To Bud, it wasn’t serious. It sounded like flirtation.

“Shhhh,” Bud cajoled, tracing the interesting landmarks on Butters’ skin. Collarbone, two nipples, a secret freckle.

 _Remember King Mysterion. You gotta stick up for yourself._ “You better not do that no more, or I’m gonna… gonna…”

“Tell your Mommy and Daddy?” Bud didn’t sound threatened or even annoyed. It was the smooth, casual voice Butters remembered from that night in the bathroom. “Your folks didn’t believe you last time. No one did. So why don’t you just be a good boy and do what I tell you? You _will_ learn to like it.” As he said this, he tried to peel the robe completely away, but Butters curled up so he could stay wrapped in it. He ended up lying supine on his bed, legs up against his chest. Seeing an opportunity, Bud let Butters be curled up and placed himself at the boy’s bottom. There, he resumed tracing, this time from Butters’ lower back nearly to his scrotum, following the exposed crease. He kept his free hand ready in case of a defensive kick. Butters did not kick out; instead, his fear turned his muscles useless and twitchy, granting Bud’s hand access between his legs. “Relax,” Bud instructed. “I’m starting with your ‘test tickles’ before we get to the real fun.” With curious fingers, he intended to warm the boy up for the main event.

“Test tickles… oh, you mean my chicken nuggets. Wait, don’t tickle me there!” Sensing Bud’s hand venturing forward, Butters pleaded, “Don’t touch my wiener. Please, no! That’s dirty!” Butters tried to squeeze his legs shut, but to no avail.

From where he was listening, Cartman couldn’t tell if Butters was beginning to cry, or whether it was the shaking of his body caused that delicate vibration in his voice. Either way, seeing Butters pleading and vulnerable like this had Cartman captivated until he noticed an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. _Worst possible time for a fucking wedgie._ With one hand, he fidgeted with the button on his pants until it came open. The tightness lessened, but he still felt tension down there. _Oh. It’s that kind of wedgie. Well, my fun gun is gonna have to wait._ Still, he let his hand rest at the meeting of his thighs. He waited for an encore of the performance Butters had described. _You’d love **my**_ _mouth on your junk, wouldn’t you, Butters? We can make that happen._ He made a mental note and pressed his hand along the pink triangle of fabric. Not that there was anything gay about that. He dismissed it as a stroke of genius. Carefully, Cartman hit zoom to capture the image of Butters squirming against his uncle’s hand, while the man’s other hand reached for the little black tube again. _Yes._


	15. Hitting Bottom

Even with his whole body fighting for escape, Butters could not compete with the pressure of his uncle's arm holding him down. It felt like the hand had ripped through his body, like a pin through a specimen in a bug collection. "Lemme go! I'll be good!"

"I know you will." Bud slicked his hand with Asstroslide, which made it easier to slip between Butters' closed legs. Along the way, Bud spread a generous layer of it for later. When he reached the boy's sensitive parts, he watched Butters' expression change in response to the new sensations.

Butters' movements slowed as he felt Bud coating his parts with the goo. "Nnnn. What're you doin' to my wiener?" Bud made no answer, but smiled down at Butters' discovery. "It's… it's all greasy." Butters rolled over, struggling harder to hide the organs from Bud's busy hands. The trouble was, he felt he was operating on a delay. Before he could adjust himself to keep his penis and balls hidden, Bud had shifted his attention to Butters' backside.

"This candy doesn't just taste good. It feels good, too." With a thumb and two fingers, he toyed with Butters' balls, stretching the young skin. His other hand had returned to Butters' ass, probing for the entrance. Butters began to pull away from the intruding fingers, but the heavy hand tightened around his balls, forcing Butters to whimper, but remain obedient. "I think I want some. You don't mind, do you?"

Hearing this, Butters could only imagine that Bud meant to lap it from the tube in his hand. Instead, Bud tossed it aside. "Aren't you gonna eat some candy?" Butters asked, discomfort coloring his voice.

"Sure I am. Just working up an appetite." With the hand on Butters' bottom, Bud pushed one finger inside. The intrusion was familiar. Butters was used to feeling fingers probing him there, when he was taking his medicine, or when the doctor was checking him… or that time in Bud's bathroom. This time, the movements were slower, more indulgent, like Bud was trying to memorize every feature of the child's insides. Time was a luxury Bud did not have in his bathroom at home, where Nellie could barge in at any moment to powder her nose. He continued to use his other hand to restrain Butters by his most sensitive area, making sure that the boy did not wiggle away from his touch.

Across the room and behind the door, Cartman's camera kept rolling. _Now it's getting good. This might not have happened if you had done what I wanted, Butters._ Through the lens, Cartman watched Bud hoist Butters into a tripod position. Face down, Butters lay partially on Bud's thigh, with his legs splayed. His noises were muffled by the comforter that surrounded his face, but Cartman could hear enough to salivate over Butters' pain.

The longer Cartman watched Butters writhe and listened to him cry, the more nauseated Cartman became. It was not unlike the time he ate an entire ultra-rich chocolate cake just so none of the other kids could have any. He succeeded in having his own way, even though it meant he spent the whole night with his arms around the toilet, puking his guts out. Victory was sweet, but it often ended up being too sweet. The fantasy was a good thing, but the reality was too much of a good thing. He tried to soothe the unrest in his belly by sitting down and leaning against the wall, and he still tried to watch. _Gross, how many fingers is he gonna stick in there? Seriously. Oh, looks like he's going for the coup de gross. Oh. Jesus Christ!_

Cartman recoiled at the reality of seeing Bud's tongue slither down the insides of Butters' thighs. This wasn't the first time Cartman had seen someone he knew in an intimate position. He couldn't say for certain how many times he had come across his mother naked in bed with a man, or perchance a woman, he had never met before. By now, he barely noticed it. The acts playing out here looked jarringly different. _They're lopsided like somebody with one normal leg and one midget leg. The fuck._ He had seen enough but couldn't look away.

Butters reared up in response to the tongue moving inside him, only to receive a warning squeeze on his balls, reminding him to stay close. After feeding on Butters' soft skin, Bud stood tall and stepped out of his boxers. He grasped Butters by the ankles and flipped him over so that he was face up again. Faced with his uncle towering over him, Butters stared. _His wiener don't look like mine._ He wanted to ask Bud why it looked that way, but he had another, more pressing question. Something was pressing on his hole, which was already tender from being manipulated by Bud's tongue and fingers. But this felt altogether different. Bud expected, and in fact, hoped, that Butters would respond to this with childlike surprise. That's what he came for, after all. Instead, Bud was taken aback when Butters asked, "Are you tryin' to play _Lord of the Rings_ with me?"

"What?"

Butters explained, his voice strained with fear, "You know, _Lord of the Rings_. You play by stickin' your wiener in someone's butthole." He wrung his hands and added, "My friends like to play it together."

The information seemed to appeal to Bud, who was now working up a sweat. "Oh really? If any of your little friends were here, I'd love to have them play, too."

Petrified, Cartman was unable to lift a finger to do so much as stop the camera. He watched as frame after frame was recorded, and his eyes went wide as he watched. _This was supposed to be awesome and funny. How come it isn't?_ All the times he had led Butters into trouble like a lamb to the slaughter flashed through his mind. Those memories usually made him smile as he cuddled up to Clyde Frog and fell asleep.

It wasn't all that long ago that he had parked himself on Butters' front lawn with a bucket of popcorn to watch the Stotches beat Butters black and blue. It had been deeply satisfying to see Butters' body taking the punishment that Cartman's mouth had earned. In a perverse way, it was incredibly intimate, a manufactured sacrifice. Cartman's own mother had never shown him the unconditional kindness that Butters did. Whether that sweet boy was unwilling to betray his friend or was afraid to, it meant that there was someone Cartman could count on to be on his side. But because that sounded too gay, he thought of it as having someone to fuck with.

Resilience was Butters' best quality. Even as Butters' bruises were still healing from his parents' fury, he was gluing a fake ballsack to his chin or sporting a "Hitler" in the name of friendship. The boy was like one of those clown punching bags; he could be beaten, but never broken. Being dragged to the edge of the bed by his ankles, he teetered on the edge of breaking now. "No! I don't wanna…" cried Butters, trying in vain to cover himself.

_Here it is,_ Cartman marveled. _Proof. That's what Kahl needs to see._ In spite of this victory, the boy who could stomach anything wanted to turn away. He had his proof, but it wasn't sitting quite right. _And cut. Stop it. Stop, goddammit!_ But it went on. And he still couldn't make himself move, or even speak. He didn't get to play puppet master anymore.

"Wait!" Butters begged. "Why don't you p-play with a grown-up, like you?" In spite of his overpowering fear, Butters infused a bit of warmth into a suggestion. "Maybe Aunt Nellie will try it."

Unblinking and unmoving, Cartman took interest. _Confusing the hell out of him. Well played, Butters, well played._

There was a pause, and Bud answered, "Why would I play with her when I have you?" Bud gave himself several quick pumps and used one hand to push the tip of his erection against Butters' tightness and protests.

In that room, two boys were terrified into submission. They were too terrified to notice a third boy's shadow in the window or the sound of hands fiddling with the locked window. There was a shattering of glass, and the boy shot through the window like a caped cannonball. He landed crouching on the floor and pulled a jagged shard out of his hand. Looking up at the bed, he saw Bud, who glistened with a shower of glass particles. Underneath him lay Butters, whose fright dissipated upon recognizing the visitor. "King Mysterion!" While Bud roared at the sting of the glass, Butters crawled out of his grip.

Before Butters knew what was happening, Mysterion hoisted him over his shoulder, climbed onto the windowsill and growled, "Hang on tight." Butters had no time to respond. Mysterion grabbed onto the window frame and began to climb up the side of the house with Butters draped over his shoulder.


	16. Mysterion Forever

"Hey, kid! Are you crazy?" shouted Bud, leaning out the window. Mysterion ignored the yells, and he ignored the icy wind that buffeted him this way and that as he slowly scaled the bricks on the side of the house. Clinging to Mysterion was Butters, trying his best to stay still in the face of shock and terror. His soft blue robe hung loosely from his shoulders, doing precious little to shield him from the frigid mountain night. Bud made a grab for Mysterion's cape, but missed as the boys rose out of reach. Bud fell forward onto the windowsill, gashed again with the broken glass. "Get back in here!" he grunted.

_He sounds pretty darn mad._ Butters believed he was saying this out loud, but his teeth were chattering so hard that his mouth wouldn't work. Mysterion growled and grabbed at the edge of the roof, which was covered with a sheet of ice, and his hand slipped. His friend squeezed tighter for warmth, for fear of falling, and because several large icicles hung dangerously close to his face.

"Butters," Mysterion commanded, "Get me one of those icicles."

"T-t-t-t-t-t…"

"Do it!" Mysterion looked down to see Bud still staring up at them the way a cat stares at baby birds on the edge of a nest.

With one arm tightly wrapped around Mysterion's neck, Butters began to extend the other. _I'm in too much trouble to go back now. I best do what King Mysterion says._ The chill of the icicle bit into his bare skin, but he held on and pumped his arm until a crystal stiletto came loose in his hand. Mysterion took it and plunged it into the slab of ice on the roof, hauling the two of them up. Once there, the piling snow gave them some traction, but did nothing to keep Butters' body any warmer. Mysterion gazed over the rooftops, across the railroad tracks, to the McCormick house. It may have been a shoddy dwelling with no heat or food, but there was a spare, warm parka and the freedom from Uncle Bud.

"Listen. We have to get you out of here before your uncle catches us or you freeze to death." Butters was propped up against him, his eyes fluttering in an effort to stay open. The boy's robe still hung untied, leaving his body partially uncovered. Mysterion hurriedly pulled the robe tight and tied it, all business. _My alter-ego might think that's funny, but not me._ He turned Butters' face in the direction of the McCormick house. "See? I'm taking you to my… er, your friend Kenny's house. You'll be safe there."

"Uh-h-h-h-h-u-h-h," shivered Butters. In a moment, he was whisked away. Mysterion's gloved hand still held onto the icicle, using it to punch holes in the ice of the rooftops. They sailed over to the next house. From there, to the next house. Twice more Mysterion jumped and sliced through the ice in the roof to secure them. It was the final jump that failed to go smoothly.

Mysterion geared up and shot through the air, aiming for the McCormicks' roof. Although his gloves had slowed the icicle's melting, there was barely enough to sink into the ice when Mysterion landed. The roof itself was in such bad repair that it barely supported the ice and snow building up, much less the sudden weight of two boys. It creaked, and several slates broke loose. The boys clung tightly to the roof and each other until it seemed that everything had settled. Cautiously, Mysterion placed Butters at the top of the drainpipe. "We're going to –" Before Mysterion could instruct Butters to slide down, another loose tile careened directly at him, knocking Mysterion off the roof and the air from his lungs.

"N-n-n-no!" A scream broke through Butters' chattering teeth as Mysterion fell and dashed on the driveway. Butters opened his eyes. It looked bad. Blood was pooling on the pavement and splattered across the new fallen snow. Bone poked through flesh and fabric. In spite of this, Mysterion turned his head and moved an arm. Butters immediately wrapped his arms around the chilly drainpipe and slid down to the ground. His body felt the cold but didn't let him think about it as he bounced through the snow to Mysterion's side. "King Mysterion!" Butters didn't like to look at the blood; instead, he focused on Mysterion's hooded eyes. He tried carefully to embrace his hero, to hold onto his life. "You saved me. Why'd you haveta get hurt?"

Turning to look at Butters, Mysterion made an effort to hide his grimace. _This hurts like hell. It always does._ Most of his body was too mangled to be useful, but he had one good hand that he placed on Butters' shoulder. "Even… if I saved you… you were braver than… I was… tonight. I mean it."

At that, Butters sobbed openly. Out of harm's way at last, the pain from what Bud had done to him began to set in, the snowy wind seared his face, but most of all, the one person who listened to him was certain to die. "What can I do? I gotta save you somehow." Butters looked around frantically, but it was dark and late, and the streets were deserted.

"There is nothing you… need to do for me," choked Mysterion. Ever the hero, he was sure to choose his words carefully. _If I told him there was nothing he_ _ **could**_ _do, the waterworks would take over._ He steadied his voice, "But there is something you must do for _you_. Go inside… put on the parka hanging in the closet. You have to… be… your own hero now. Go."

All Butters could do was give a shivery nod. He gave Mysterion a kiss on the forehead and bounded over the snow, then through the unlocked front door. With Butters safe at last, Mysterion's work was done. The gruff exterior melted away, and he felt like himself again, and pulled the hood of his cape tight around his face. (I hope he can take it from here. If anything happens to him while I'm gone…) The wind ate his words, and the snow piled over him. Kenny breathed his last.

Kenny was a regular up in heaven, and actually, a bit of a celebrity there. Saint Peter always ushered him to the front of the line through the pearly gates, and every once and again Archangel Michael would break out the golden PSP so Kenny could control heaven's fantasy football league. It was a nice change of pace from his life on Earth. Sometimes Kenny wished he could just stay dead and enjoy some of that heavenly peace he heard about in Christmas carols. Two things made him grateful to return when the time came: cute girls and good friends.

He missed his friends when he was in the afterlife - even Cartman sometimes - and he also worried about them. (They always get caught up in the weirdest shit, over and over.) He knew that he was no exception. Already, he was compelled to check on Butters. Another perk of heaven was the perfect view of anything anywhere on Earth. There were nights he abused the privilege by sneaking glimpses of ladies in the shower, but not this time. He peered right down on his own house. Sure enough, Butters had wrapped himself up in Kenny's parka and then wrapped himself up in Kenny's blanket. The boy was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling, so Kenny was looking straight into his eyes. (At least he's finally out of harm's way.)

Just to be sure, Kenny looked over at Butters' house. The first thing he noticed was Bud picking up the phone in the guest room. (Shit. Is he calling the cops? What if they find him?) Kenny's faith in South Park's boys in blue was not very high. (They'd probably hand him back to that perv.) Bud put the phone down and turned the TV on. Kenny was seething at Bud's arrogant calm, when movement in the hall suddenly caught his attention. The figure was obscured by shadows, but the body build was a dead giveaway. (What the… Cartman? What does he think he's doing?) Even the dim light was enough to make the rhinestone thong sparkle as Cartman bent over to remove his shoes.

He watched as Cartman crept towards the sliver of light escaping from under the guest room door. Lurking in the shadows, Cartman had a look of purpose on his face, and clearly had a reason for being there. Kenny pinned his hopes on the boy by the door, who looked ready to strike. (Well, that fat stripper's thong saved us from Chef turning pedo on us. Maybe Cartman's thong can save Butters. God help us all.)


	17. Meaty Substitute

Bud held his breath and listened to the dial tone. His finger hovered over the 9 and 1 buttons. With a frustrated sigh, he put the phone down. Playing through his story, he knew it was a lost cause. "What am I gonna say? 'Yes, officer. I was babysitting my nephew when some kid in a mask and cape broke in and took him.' They'd lock me up just for saying it." Not even to himself would he admit his real worry, that upon finding Butters, the true purpose of his 'babysitting' would become easily apparent. Bite marks on the boy's neck, pinch marks on his body, injuries to his private areas. After the time spent grooming his catamite, he was not about to let himself be taken down because of some kid in a costume.

He looked out the window. No sign of either child anywhere, not so much as a footprint in the snow. "There's no way they're still up on that roof." The wind was howling and the temperature dropping. "I'll take my chances with Stephen and Linda. I can tell them he ran away… or that a caped kid came and took him. They'll still take my word over his." Confident in his freedom from blame, Bud flung himself down onto the bed and turned on the TV. He felt a little pleased knowing that Butters would no doubt be punished; he even wanted to dole out some punishment of his own after having been left so unsatisfied.

"Maybe he'll turn up on his own. In the meantime, I can think of some fun things for him to do." For one, Bud determined not to waste any time getting to the main event when his next opportunity arose. He flipped through channels, but nothing caught his interest. Nothing would until the nagging desire was resolved. Sure, there were dozens of cable channels dedicated to adult entertainment, but naturally, the Stotches barricaded them with security codes. Not that anything on TV could compete with the struggling, soft blonde boy he had pinned down less than an hour before.

Bud's ears buzzed with frustration. In the midst of the noise, he heard a mewling sound, soft at first, but growing louder. It was coming from the outside, beyond the door. A child. "Hello? Is anybody there?" cried the voice.

"Butters?" Bud wondered. "I knew he'd come crawling back." He rose, and ventured into the hall. Instead of Butters, Bud saw a heavyset boy holding a stuffed frog. The boy wandered nervously in the darkened hall, threatening to pop his thumb into his mouth. Upon seeing Bud, he startled and clung tighter to the frog. "Kid, what are you doing here?" By now, Bud was wondering how many more kids would show up unannounced before the Stotches returned. It was getting to be too much of a good thing.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking for Butters." The boy looked this way and that. His breathing quickened. "My... mahmmy... dropped... me... off... to play with Butters, and I can't... find... him!" he wailed.

Bud knelt down. Opportunity was knocking. "Hey, little guy, c'mere. It's okay. What's your name?"

"E-Eric," stammered the boy, waddling into Bud's arms. His lip quivered and his hands twisted. But his eyes were bone dry.

"Well, you can call me Uncle Bud. Butters is... not here right now, but whaddaya say we watch TV for a while? I've got some ice cream and... candy. You don't look like you're any stranger to ice cream and candy!" he teased, pinching at Cartman's sides.

Cartman put on his sweetest smile, the Emmy-winning kind. "Really? That would be super kewl," he gushed, wiping drops of nothing from his eyes.

"Sit tight and make yourself at home," Bud soothed. "I'll be right back with that ice cream."

Cartman changed channels until he came to Terrance and Phillip. He propped his loyal friend up beside him on the guest bed. "Infiltration is complete, Clyde Frog. We are now moving into Phase II."

Two bowls of ice cream later, Cartman licked his lips, his fingers, and his spoon. "Mmmmm."

"Wow, Eric, you really packed that away!" Bud gave Cartman a congratulatory pat on the back, which morphed into an arm snaking around Cartman's shoulders. "Those clothes must be feeling pretty tight right about now. Want to jump out of them and get comfy?" Inwardly, Bud scolded himself for being too eager, but when he saw his new, young companion move to comply, he brushed his concerns aside. _Look at this kid's face. He has no idea what to think. I bet his "mahmmy" keeps him even more sheltered than Butters._

Cartman made his eyes pitifully wide. "Okay. I think that would make me feel better." He stood and began to unbutton his coat. Slowly. Carefully. He folded his coat and laid it on the dresser.

Bud pretended he was interested in Terrence and Phillip's airport security sketch, but it was the boy undressing in his periphery that had his full attention. So different from Butters. His arms were pudgy and dimpled, his chest accented by soft breasts. _Not as cute as Butters, but he'll do. He's like a moving, breathing Lettuce Ranch doll._ Cartman unbuttoned his pants. Both he and Bud held their breath in anticipation as he let them drop. Bud shed layers of inhibition when the twinkling of pink glitter and rhinestones caught his eye. He took in Cartman's appearance head on. Part of him felt like questioning, part of him felt like snickering, but the vulnerable pout on the boy's face urged him to contain it. That, and the tantalizing outline of Cartman's little bulge. "Feeling better, kiddo?"

"Yes. So much better. It's not easy being so buff all the time." Cartman turned and climbed onto the bed, making sure Bud had every opportunity to see him from this angle. _Come and get it. I'm ready for you._ Sure enough, Bud turned off the TV and slithered onto the bed. He got close enough for the skin of their bodies to touch. With one hand, he stroked Cartman's neatly parted hair. The other crossed over Cartman's body to play with the stretchy strap of the thong. Acting coy, Cartman slipped his own hand under the strap. His hand explored for a few seconds before releasing the pink material with a snap. All Bud could see in this gesture was a little boy being playful. He did not see that Cartman now had something in his hand, or rather, would not allow himself to see. The sparkles from the thong must have affected his eyesight.

Bud spoke again. "I have an idea. We should play a game. How would you like that?"

"Okay," Cartman answered. Meekly, he added, "Me and Butters were going to play _Lord of the Rings_."

Bud's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? I would love to play _Lord of the Rings_ with you. It's too bad Butters isn't here to join in." His salacious tone carried meaning that was meant only for himself. But Cartman understood completely.


	18. The Boy with the Robot Costume

Leaning up against the pillows, Cartman let Bud kneel over him. _This guy's not wasting any time,_ the boy realized, making sure to keep his face neutral. He was waiting for the right moment to initiate his final – and favorite – stage of the plan.

Bud pulled off his own boxers and reached for the waistband of Cartman's thong. The strip of material shifted, but was much too tight to be removed with one quick swish. Pulling harder, Bud grew impatient when the panties still did not budge. "Just… come… off!"

Cartman struggled. "Ay!" The pulling and pinching was leaving his skin raw.

"But I thought you _wanted_ to play Lord of the Rings." Even in his rush, Bud wanted to take the time to play with his quarry. "I want _your_ one ring." Having already lost his first choice for the evening, Bud would not tolerate another escape. In frustration, he took hold of the gusset, intending to yank it to one side of Cartman's crotch, or tear it to pieces if it came to that.

However, having already suffered one hit to his balls that day, Cartman would not tolerate a rough hand getting too close for comfort. "Maybe you can take it off with your mouth." Cartman suggested. _Especially since you like licking little boys' asses so much._

The anger faded from Bud's face. "Maybe I can." Trying to capture the glittering strap between his teeth, Bud dipped his head like he was bobbing for apples. He pressed his nose into the pink fabric trapped by Cartman's paunch, taking in the sense of proximity to untouched boy parts, taking it in deeply. "Mmmm. You smell so good." Bud felt a pair of hands pushing on the back of his head, and that was the last that he remembered.

When Bud opened his eyes again, he was still naked, lying on his back. The room was completely dark except for the candles. His little Eric was nowhere to be seen. He tried to sit up, but found that he could not; his limbs were attached to the four-poster bed with plastic zip ties. "Huh?" He tugged against the bonds, but they held fast. Bud turned his head the other way and recoiled with a shout upon seeing Cartman, standing startlingly close to the edge of the bed, smirking to himself.

"Comfy?" Cartman purred.

"What is this?" Bud fought violently against the ties. "Where's Butters?"

"I don't know where he is. But I know this is what happens when you suck chloroform out of a kid's underwear." Cartman stroked the fabric.

The grown man never thought he'd see the day when a child would fight back, and fight dirty. "You drugged me?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I can't believe you didn't try to have your way with me when me and Butters went to your house." Out of the corner of his eye, Cartman saw himself reflected in the dark window and his dark smile broadened.

Bud remembered that visit from Butters and his friend, remembered getting his hands on Butters for the first time. "Wait. That's how I know you. You're the boy with the robot costume!" He also remembered receiving an invitation from Butters to see a video of a boy dressed as Britney Spears. "And you were in that video dancing with a Justin Timberlake cutout."

"At least I wasn't licking little boys' buttholes." Cartman was in a hurry to address the issue and to take the focus off his private activities. "You seem to like doing that."

Bud made a show of looking appalled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on. We both know you didn't come here to make nice. You wanted something."

Indignant, Bud argued, "No, I came to visit my nephew. That's it. I didn't want anything."

Not satisfied with the answer, Cartman picked up one of the candles. The top of the candle had begun to melt into liquid. He looked at the candle, then over his shoulder at Bud. Walking back to the bed, Cartman held the candle over Bud's body and tipped it, drizzling the scalding wax onto the hairy belly. Bud roared. When the screams subsided, Cartman went on. "You know of what I speak. A great eye, lidless, wreathed in brown." Even under the circumstances, that image was enough to allow a burst of giggling to break through Cartman's serious demeanor. He regained his composure.

"You came onto me. I think you're looking for an older guy."

"Hell no. Been there, done that." Cartman snapped. _This asshole would fit right in with those NAMBLA fucks._ He didn't want to spend any more time around men in wool sweaters and hush puppies who whispered sick nothings to him. But he would have been lying if he said he did not get off on the attention. The confusion read on his face.

Seeing Cartman's reaction, he pushed. "You really are a little faggot. Did you wear those panties when you were grinding on 'Justin'?" Even as the hot wax congealed on his skin, Bud expected to see the boy crumble and release him. He had no idea what he was up against. In an instant, Cartman reached behind his back, where the strap of his thong held his stun gun like a holster. With a crackle, Cartman pressed the device against Bud's nipple. Bud erupted into screams again.

Having the power, the _authority_ , to hand down punishment gave a wicked rush. He had always wanted a chance to see what effect the weapon would have on different parts of the body. It was Bud's turn to be explored. Cartman straddled Bud and attacked the man's neck, watching him shudder. The crackle of the stun gun and the boy's laughter filled Bud's ears. Finally, Cartman climbed down. He began to tuck the weapon back inside the strap of his thong, but something stopped him. There was something he hadn't tried. He knelt at the end of the bed, between Bud's spread legs. "Still think I'm a little faggot?" Before Bud could give any response, Cartman held the crackling weapon to Bud's balls. The man convulsed until the shock let up; he then lay still and silent.

When Bud's eyes sprang open, Cartman placed the stun gun on the nightstand, just in case Bud forgot who was in charge. He reached into his coat pocket, careful not to disturb the camera lens taking in everything from between the folds of the red material. Out came a roll of industrial strength duct tape. He tore off several pieces of tape and strategically placed them on Bud's body. One on Bud's groin, one on his chest. Alarmed, Bud demanded, "What are you doing now?" The last piece of tape Cartman placed over Bud's mouth.

In a suspiciously kind voice, Cartman soothed, "Uncle Bud, I know you have a problem." He ripped off the tape above Bud's junk. "Your problem is ass-raping boys." Ripped the piece off Bud's chest. "I'll help you to make sure it never happens again." Off came the piece covering Bud's mouth. With each of these pieces of tape came clumps of hair and muffled yells.

Already, Cartman had something else on his mind. On the floor was a kit with words on the side. From a distance, it looked to Bud like a toy medical bag for playing doctor. That carried frightening implications, as Bud did not want to see his young captor holding forceps or a scalpel. Cartman withdrew a small bottle. "You look like you could use a drink. You do drink alcohol?"

By now, nothing surprised Bud. "Yeah, I drink."

"Open up." Cartman poured some of the liquid into Bud's tentative mouth, but it was promptly spat back out.

"Is that nail polish remover or something?"

"It clearly says 'Rubbing Alcohol'. You like rubbing, and you like alcohol."

Bud continued spitting. "You're insane!"

"You don't like it? Then what am I going to do with the rest?" He looked at the bottle and splashed it across Bud's raw and broken skin. When Cartman placed the kit on the bed, Bud could read the calligraphy on the side: "MYami Ink". A snake coiled around the K.

Bud shook his head. "No. Please, Eric! You don't want to do that."

"Keep still. This will only hurt all the time." Tattoo gun in hand, Cartman set to work, creating his vision, to the sound of raw agony. Painstakingly, he scrawled across Bud's chest, poking, digging. The work seemed to take forever; to Cartman because he wanted to see the final result, and Bud because of the searing torture. At long last, the boy sat up and exhaled deeply, admiring his masterpiece. The letters were formed by the unsteady hand of a child, but the words were perfectly legible:

  
**I am a sick**

**buttfucker**


	19. One Man's White Trash

Cartman put his tools away. Bud still groaned through clenched teeth. The boy sat on the edge of the bed to survey his finished work. "Not bad for my first try. Best of luck explaining that to the wife-and-former-sweetheart."

Hearing this, Bud dared to hope that he would live to see Nellie again. By now, even the thought of explaining to his wife a tattoo labeling him for his basest impulse sounded pleasant. "That's it? You're… letting me go?"

"I'm going to cut these off, if that's what you mean," Cartman replied, pointing at the zip ties.

"Ah, thank God." Cartman retrieved a small knife from his coat pocket and sat on the bed again, looking at it. He waited, feeling Bud's anxious eyes on him. Finally, Bud spoke. "You _are_ gonna let me go, right?"

"Not quite. You see, I have recorded all the fun you've been having tonight on my Wellington Bear video camera. If you show your sorry ass around here again, this video will be all over the Internet."

"Oh—" Bud started, but Cartman interrupted.

"And if you're thinking of kidnapping me and killing me in some kind of sex dungeon under your garage, those videos will upload automatically." In the condescending voice Bud used to control Butters, Cartman added, "On the other hand, if you go to jail, you'll get to have all the butt sex you want."

There was silence as Bud worked through what he was hearing. "But… what will Butters think if I leave without saying goodbye?"

"If he can forgive you for cramming yourself into his ass, he'll forgive you for leaving in a hurry." Cartman crawled over Bud's trapped body and pressed the steel blade against the skin on Bud's neck. "I'll take care of it."

Bud pulled his head as far from the knife as he could manage. "Alright, alright, I'll go back to California!"

Through the dim light, Cartman cast a suspicious eye on Bud. Nothing this man could say would have gained Cartman's trust. "Yes. Return to the bowels of hippie land." With haphazard slices, Cartman slashed through the zip ties and one of Bud's already lacerated hands. Bud threw some clothes on, grabbed his suitcase and hurried out the door. From the window, the boy sneered down as Bud jumped into the car. He was sure he saw the man glance wild-eyed up at the window before the car peeled out.

Pleased with his work, Cartman carefully made the bed, flipping the pillows to hide the blood. "A nice surprise for Butters' parents when they least expect it." The fire in his veins had cooled, and so had his body. He slid into his striped pyjamas. The night of brutality was at its end, and Cartman was a hungry little boy again, looking for a sugar high. With a childish smile, he pulled up a chair and stood on his tiptoes to retrieve a half-full carton of ice cream. As he stretched, he took pleasure in the way the thong caressed him. _The hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the thong of power has a will of its own._ He grabbed a spoon and plopped down on the kitchen floor to enjoy his treat as if nothing had happened.

The wind was dying down. At the edge of the neighborhood, in Kenny's drafty bedroom, Butters still lay awake. He had expected to find Kenny, but the boy was nowhere to be found. (Maybe when Kenny gets back, he'll know what to do.) Butters had tried to sleep to pass the time, but the cold and the strange room made it impossible. He just wanted to be at home. Things were bad enough without his parents finding out what he had done now. Through the thin wall, Butters could hear Kid Rock crackling on the stereo, punctuated by conversation.

Abruptly, without so much as a knock, Kenny's older brother Kevin burst in. "You got my earbuds. Give 'em here."

(Sorry, I don't have your earbuds,) Butters answered, confused. He said what he knew his mother would say. (Did you look everywhere? Where did you last see them?)

Kevin did not accept this answer as graciously as Butters always tried to. "You lyin'! You lyin'! Mama!" Kevin turned and lumbered out the door. "Kenny took my earbuds and now he's lyin'."

Butters got out of bed and followed Kevin, with his head hung low. _Even when I'm someone else I get in trouble._

Kenny's mother, sipping beer with her husband on the couch, paid him no attention. Instead, she said to Kevin, "You stoled those earbuds from your father! Sorry 'bout ya." Kevin was annoyed but unsurprised by the brush off. Mrs. McCormick resumed pushing her own agenda. With one finger, she traced her husband's arm. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a baby again? Maybe we could get ourselves on one-a them reality shows, like _Clay & Jen Plus 10_."

As soon as she breathed the word "baby", Mr. McCormick rolled his eyes. "Aw naw. We already got lotsa kids. We need a big plasma TV, right there." He held up his unsteady hands to frame where he imagined the TV on the opposite wall.

"Not this again. Why you gotta be such a selfish prick? We need that money for the baby."

"No, we need a big ol' TV with high-def for watchin' NASCAR. I can't see nothin' on that piece of crap." He meant to point at the old TV, but the all the beer in his system made his finger point closer to a disembodied car engine sitting on the floor.

"I need another drink." Mrs. McCormick stormed off to the kitchen with Kevin at her heels, demanding a drink as well.

"Whaddaya think, kiddo?" Mr. McCormick called out to Butters, tripping over his own tongue. "What'd you rather have. A big screen plasma screen, or another baby?" He burped and yelled to his wife, "Like we don't have too many damn kids already."

"I didn't make 'em by myself!" she hollered. "And don't say that in fronta the children, you dumb ass. You'll traumatize 'em!"

(Don't mind me, uh, "Mom and Dad". It's for you to decide, and I just want you to be happy.) Butters' adorable smile was hidden, but could be detected even in his muffled voice.

The two guys ignored him, but Mrs. McCormick heard and knelt down. She knotted her arms around him.

It was actually the combination of all the yelling and the unfamiliar smells coming from his temporary family that so troubled him. Butters was used to a little yelling from his own parents when he was grounded for one of the thousands of reasons they had found over the years: looking silly in school pictures, having liposuction in the living room, dating Paris Hilton, the usual objectionable behavior. But it was always quick and painful. Here, the fighting seemed never-ending. Butters spotted a Budweiser clock that read 2:18 AM.

"No duh, he's a hot mess. You was strung out the whole time you was pregnant! Boy's probably got brain damage."

Mrs. McCormick stood, and Butters took the opportunity to dart away. She did not seem to notice that he had gone, but continued to rage, "Yer the only one in this family with brain damage!" and she smashed a beer can on her husband's head.

"Shit, woman!" he shouted back.

Kevin grabbed her and tried to pull her away. "Quit hittin' him, skank!"

"Watch your mouth!" From there, the fight escalated, with Mr. McCormick drunkenly smacking at his wife, Mrs. McCormick shrieking and punching at him, and Kevin trying to fend her off with a broken beer bottle. Down the hall, the wailing of Kenny's little sister rose above the shouting match in the living room, but only Butters seemed to hear it. It was too much.

A terrified Butters ran out to free himself from the chaos. Just outside the back door, he tripped over some rubber tubing and fell in the snow. Getting up, he bumped a table and knocked over two paint cans in a stack. A thick smell of urine hung so heavily in the air that even the parka could not keep it out. He made his way across the yard with the caution of a soldier traversing a minefield. The outside of the home was as scary as the inside, and he could not get away fast enough.

The wind had stilled, but snow was still falling, and it was fiercely cold. Butters was numb. He hated to go against what King Mysterion had told him to do. He also hated that he would have to answer yet again to his parents and Uncle Bud for his behavior. Most of all, he hated to leave Kenny's sister in the midst of that discord. _I wish I could help her, but I don't know what to do. I wish King Mysterion could have visited her before he died._ He gave it some more thought. _Oh! I bet he already was. I think he left a pair of his underwear in Kenny's room. They had "KM" written on them too._ When Butters approached his house, he toughened himself with the bravery that King Mysterion would have wanted. Seeing the kitchen light on, he expected to find a displeased Uncle Bud waiting for him.


	20. Someone's in the Kitchen with Butters

As soon as his home came into view, the hair bristled on the back of Butters' neck. It was plain to see that Bud's car was missing from the driveway, but that only left Butters with more questions. _Maybe he's out looking for me. Maybe he's gonna find my parents and tell 'em what I did. I'm really gonna get it now._ His last hope was that his genuine penitence would convince the three adults to go easy on him.

When Butters put his hand on the doorknob, he pulled his hand back in surprise. The front door was unlocked. Not only that; the door was barely closed. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and removed his hood. The entryway was dark except for a wash of light seeping out of the kitchen. Butters waited in the darkness for one minute. Two. Five. The house was nearly silent until someone in the kitchen began rummaging through anything that opened.

Curiosity overpowering his caution, Butters stole a peek into the kitchen. The day held no end of surprises for the little boy. There he saw Cartman, dressed in pyjamas, holding a carton of ice cream in one hand and digging through cabinets with the other. While searching high and low, Cartman exhaled his frustrations. "Motherfucking son of a bitch, why can't I find any goddamn root beer? Why would you buy weak-ass vanilla and no root beer?"

Butters stepped into the light. He tried to think of some way to make his presence known without setting Cartman off. "Wuh-What're you doing in my kitchen, Eric?" It wasn't the best he could have come up with, but his nerves were shot.

Cartman jumped, nearly dropping the ice cream. "Looking for root beer. Don't your parents know that root beer is kind of important in a root beer float?"

Butters looked nervous. "Oh, I can't have no soda or nothin'." When Cartman rolled his eyes, Butters thought quickly. "But my dad's got some. He keeps it in the garage."

"Then go get it."

"Uh, I dunno. I'm not supposed to know it's in there, but I saw him drinkin' it after he was fixin' the car." Not wanting to see the displeasure on Cartman's face, Butters lowered his gaze. It landed at the larger boy's midsection, where a flash of pink sequins caught his eye. There was that funny feeling again. _I just can't say no._ "Okay, I'll go get it."

In the garage, Butters opened up the mini-fridge. Inside was a wall of cans and a few shiny magazines about cars with ladies sitting on them. He examined one of the cans. "It says 'God of Beers'. Can't get much better than God, so Eric will like it for sure." He scooped up a couple of cans and brought them inside.

Cartman searched for the biggest bowl he could find and filled it with ice cream. Seeing Butters return with the cans, Cartman grabbed one and poured it over his ice cream. It frothed invitingly. Spoon in hand, Cartman took a big bite and made a face. _This root beer tastes like shit._ Nonetheless, he took another spoonful. _Okay, it's not that bad._

"Can I have some of that?" asked Butters.

It was good enough not to let Butters have any. "No, I need it. I worked up a big appetite playing with my new toy."

Butters brightened, oblivious to the sadistic pleasure in Cartman's voice. "A new toy? Can I see?"

"No, you can't," Cartman answered, knowingly. Fresh screams still rang in his ears, and thinking of the effects of the stun gun gave him chills. Best of all, he had it on tape to enjoy again and again. "I think I broke it." But he did not look disappointed in the least. Some toys are meant to be broken.

While Cartman emptied another can into the bowl, Butters sat, thinking. It was nice to have a chance to just sit without being punished or coerced into something he couldn't understand. He could be a kid sitting with a friend. Finally, Butters spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

Cartman spooned up the last of the ice cream, then slurped the bowl dry. "I guess."

"Are… are you still wearing those panties?" Butters was certain of the answer, but wanted to broach the subject delicately.

Staggering to his feet, Cartman was surprised by how uneasy he felt. _What the fuck is this?_ But he ignored it in favor of standing his ground, albeit unsteadily. "Oh, now you wanna see? So you can call me a fag like everyonedy else?" He ripped his pyjamas off.

Again, Butters was mesmerized. "N-no. I think it works on you."

In the next several seconds, Cartman's expression morphed from pissy to proud to curious. "Yeah?"

Like many of the boys, Butters often felt the need to flatter his volatile friend just to keep the peace. This was not one of those times. "Well, sure! I mean, every pair of underwear goes up your butt crack. So why wouldn't you want underwear that are made to fit there? Plus, nothing rubs on your butt. No wonder you want to show everybody!" Butters had thought that the briefs printed with Chinpokomon that he got to wear on weekends were the pinnacle of underwear design, but he was now sold on the thong.

_The time has come to activate the power of the thong!_ He had ample footage of Butters and Uncle Bud that evening, should he ever find a need for either. But if Butters was going to be putty in his hands, there was something he wanted to accomplish. "Now I'ma ask you something. I want you to get that *hic* tape. You know the one. When I was dressed as Spitney Brears. And I want to smash it with a hammer."

There was no way to say no. Cartman in the flesh, bare flesh, was much more interesting than anything on the tape. Diving under the bed, Butters came up holding the tape, its end label coated with star stickers. Cartman's eyes widened in anticipation. With the solemnity of a holy offering, Butters laid the tape on the floor. Cartman grabbed the nearest blunt object – a baseball bat standing in the corner. The other boy covered his face as Cartman raised the bat over his head and brought it down on the offending tape. "Damn tape! Dammit-dammit-dammit! You will respite my authoritahhh." Several solid whacks splintered the tape into many pieces.

Butters covered his ears. _Good thing he doesn't know I saved it to my computer. I don't want to know what he'd do to that._

At last, Cartman let the bat slide from his hand. He swayed back and forth. "I needta lie down," Cartman announced, and crashed onto Butters' bed. Butters wasn't sure what to do. He was sleepy, but imagined Cartman flying into a rage at being touched. It was a chilly night, especially with the broken window letting the icy air in. Wearing nothing but a scrap of pink polyester, Cartman shivered.

Tenderly, affectionately, Butters pulled the blanket up around Cartman's shoulders. _Aww._ Cartman with eyes closed in an expression of genuine contentment rendered him nearly unrecognizable. A far cry from the kid who called him an "uncle fucker" in front of anyone who would pain that his uncle had caused had not yet dulled away from his body. But it made him want to protect Cartman the way King Mysterion had used his dying breath to protect him.

Taking the risk, Butters crawled into bed and tucked himself in, but the cold still nipped at him. He inched closer to Cartman. The other boy did not move. Butters pressed himself against Cartman's back. Nothing. He draped an arm over. All the cosy warmth and feeling soft skin against his own, and he was asleep. Once asleep, parts of his body seemed to acquire minds of their own.

In the haze of semi-consciousness, Cartman tensed with disapproval. _Get your dick away from me. I don't like things in my ass._ But he did nothing. Butters was an extension of the way the thong hugged his body. _His dick's just near my butt, not in it. There's nothing gay about that._ Cartman leaned against Butters, soaking up the body heat from head to toe. Blame it on the root beer float.

Up in heaven, Kenny was getting sleepy after watching their evening unfold. He had preferred to find out what became of Butters to seeing the usual bedlam that his own family played out. The two boys in the Stotch house were still spooning, and both were asleep. Butters seemed to be dreaming; his body twitched and he blurted out part-words, like "oobies". _I wish I had a camera. Wait. I do!_ He picked up the golden PSP, complete with its Gold!Cam attachment. Simply being in heaven did not tame his mind for mischief. He took aim for a perfect shot of Cartman, spilling out from under the covers, with Butters' arm dangling over him and cupping a breast. _Snap_. (Perfect. I'll save that for later. It'll come in handy sometime.) The unabashed smiles on the sleeping boys' faces satisfied Mysterion's search for justice. The photo, in all its pixelated glory, was a fine reward for Kenny.

(Everyone got what they deserved. Especially fat boy.) Satisfied, Kenny threw himself back in the clouds, stretched and yawned. In the blink of an eye, he awoke in his own bed. The house was so silent, it was almost like heaven, except for the intermingled smells of stale beer and motor oil. He sat up, noticing that his bedroom door was partly open. In the living room, his dad was stretched out on the couch folded in a moth-eaten blanket, and Kevin lay sleeping in the middle of the floor. The two were surrounded by broken bottles, tipped furniture, and holes in the walls. _I'm home alright_ , Kenny observed.

He looked out the window to see the rising sun making the fresh snow sparkle. It looked like a Thomas Kinkade painting, as long as Kenny turned his head so he did not see the pickup truck on blocks in the front yard. Gazing dreamily, Kenny could finally enjoy some peace and quiet in his quiet little mountain town.


End file.
